


Threat of Joy

by jemdetta



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets, Miles Kane - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Glastonbury, M/M, Romantic Fluff, milex - Freeform, music festivals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-06-27 12:17:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15685269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemdetta/pseuds/jemdetta
Summary: Miles is excited to head to Glastonbury with his friends. Of course, the last thing he expects is for those idiots to pull a prank on him and leave him stranded without a tent or a working phone.It looks to be a miserable weekend, until he runs into a group of friendly lads from Sheffield who offer their help.





	1. We made pretend, we were best friends

**Author's Note:**

> This is an alternate universe where the boys are not famous, and they're all attending Glastonbury as regular festival-goers. Title is from a Strokes song.
> 
> _Disclaimer: This is not real and simply a work of fiction, and this is not meant to resemble real life and real events._

 

Miles slowly awakens to the sun shining on his face. By all rights it should have been a warm, pleasant way to greet his second day of Glastonbury, except that there’s a quiet, nagging thought in the fuzzy mess of his hungover brain. _Get up, Miles. Something is really, horribly wrong._

He bolts upright when he realises what it is.

“My tent!” Miles blinks around in confusion. His tent is fucking _missing_ , which is why he’s currently out in the open and roasting under the sun. Clambering to his feet, Miles squints around the campground for his friends; the fuckers are nowhere to be found. None of the tents pitched around him are even remotely familiar. Miles catches the eye of two nearby blokes parked in camping chairs outside their tent, an Australian flag fluttering merrily above them. They are enjoying a morning beer and seemingly grinning at Miles’ confusion.

Miles calls out to them: “You lot seen who nicked my stuff?”

The two men exchange an amused glance. “Saw your mates an hour ago, giggling and packing everything up while you slept,” one of the Aussies tells him. “Think they played a prank on you. Sorry, mate.”

Miles groans. It _has_ to be payback for the incident with Jamie and the hot sauce last week. Reaching into his pockets, he’s relieved to find his phone and a few crumpled twenty-quid notes. However, his relief is short-lived when he jabs uselessly at the buttons. His fucking phone is dead. Now it’s all coming back to him; he’d meant to charge it last night before he passed out.

Of course, it’s utterly useless now. His power bank is in his missing bag, along with his wallet, his clothes… _everything_ , really. Miles sighs and swears a blue streak under his breath. Jamie and the rest got him good. Miles would have been impressed if he isn’t so bloody hungover.

“Maybe try the Lost and Found counter,” the second Aussie bloke suggests, gesturing eastward with his beer can. “Good luck, mate.”

“Cheers.” Miles gives them a quick salute, bending down to pick up the precious few belongings his friends _did_ leave behind: his leopard-print jacket, which Miles had balled up and used as a pillow, along with his Oakleys and a solitary can of Fosters. Thankfully his Glastonbury wristband is still safely tucked under his sleeve.

There are plenty of people already milling about, although it is only Thursday and the festival only officially kicks off on Friday. From experience, Miles knows many festival goers drive in on Tuesday and Wednesday to secure good camping spots, like he and his friends had done yesterday. They’d originally planned to spend Thursday exploring the quieter corners of the Glasto site, but now it looks like Miles’ Thursday plans involve finding his arsehole friends and his belongings.

Thankfully, the Lost and Found tent isn’t too crowded. It’s manned by a middle-aged woman in a blue vest who reminds Miles vaguely of his own mum. There’s only one more person waiting in line, a hefty bloke around Miles’ height who looks just as hungover and annoyed as Miles feels. The man is dressed in a tank top and - to Miles’ amusement - track bottoms emblazoned with the Union Jack flag. Typical of the chavs running around Glasto, although Miles tries to reserve his judgment since he’s not quite in a charitable mood. It’s not like his own fashion sense is without fault.

Finally the Union Jack bloke steps aside as the volunteer asks him to wait a while. She’s waving Miles forward now. “Hullo, luv. How can I help?” she asks pleasantly.

“Hiya.” Miles still hasn’t quite figured out how to explain his predicament. “I know this sounds a bit daft,” he begins, fully aware that Union Jack bloke is listening in as well. “But, uh, I seem to have lost my tent. And my friends.”

“Pardon?’ the volunteer asks, baffled. The Union Jack bloke is turning his face away, clearly trying to stifle his laughter.

“It were probably a prank,” Miles admits with a sigh. “But I’m not sure what else to do. Me phone’s dead, and I have nowhere to sleep. My wallet’s with them too, so I only have about sixty quid on me.”

The woman clucks her tongue. “Are you sure these are really your friends?”

Miles shrugs, putting on his most pathetically innocent expression. “I reckon they meant no real harm and they’ll turn up soon,” he says cheerfully, unsure if he’s trying to convince his little audience or himself.

“Hmmm.” Raising a skeptical eyebrow at him, the volunteer reaches for a clipboard and pen. “I can write down a list what you’ve lost, so we’ll give you a call later if your things turn up, luv.”

Miles grimly fishes out his dead phone. “Me battery’s gone, so you won’t be able to call me.”

“Not quite your day, is it?’ The volunteer flashes him a sympathetic look. “All right, why don’t you check back in two hours? ‘Fraid we can’t do much else for you, poppet.”

Not seeing another alternative, Miles gives her the list of his belongings and the names of his friends. To his surprise, the Union Jack bloke holds out his phone to Miles. “D’ya want to try and call your mates?” he offers in a surprisingly soft voice. His accent sounds Northern; Miles would put his money on Yorkshire.

“Cheers, laa.” Miles gives him a grateful smile. “Unfortunately, I haven’t memorised any of their numbers.”

“Ah.” The Union Jack fellow scrunches his face in sympathy. “Shame, then. Don’t worry, I know how you feel. Me own mates have pulled some stinkers on me ‘afore.”

“Got your revenge, then?” Miles asks, grinning in solidarity.

“Oh, aye, you bet.” Union Jack looks pleased with himself. “So what happens if you can’t find your friends?”

“Dunno, really.” Miles sighs, running his fingers through his buzz cut. “If I can’t find those tossers, I might have to go and see if I can buy another tent and sleeping bag for sixty quid. It’s all I have on me at the moment.” He wonders briefly if he might be able to befriend the Australian guys back at his original campsite. They might take pity on him and let him kip under their canopy.

Union Jack frowns. “Give us a minute,” he mutters, tapping urgently on his phone. Sensing that he’s lost his captive audience, Miles turns back to the volunteer and waits for her to file the report and hand him a reference number so he can check back in later. More people are starting to join the line behind him, and Miles decides that there’s only so much Lost and Found can do for him.

Instead of Miles’ name, the volunteer calls out, “Matt Helders?”

The Union Jack bloke looks up from where he’s engrossed on his phone. “Yeah, comin’.” He writes down the case number the volunteer gives him, and she assures him that he’ll get a call if they find his wallet.

Miles winces. “Hope you get it back, mate,” he tells Matt empathetically.

“Ta very much.” Matt holds out a hand. “Sorry, didn’t get your name. I’m Matt.”

“Miles.” They shake hands firmly.

“Listen, Miles.” Matt glances down at his phone. “I just asked me mates, they’re okay with you sharing our tents. We have a bit of extra space an’ all.”

Miles’ eyes widen in surprise. “Oh no, mate, I couldn’t possibly--”

“Don’t be daft, we insist.” Matt is gesturing impatiently for Miles to follow him. “We’re camped over at Pennard Hill. ‘s bit of a trek to most of the stages, if you don’t mind.”

“Course I don’t, you’re doing me a massive favour.” Miles nods down worriedly at Matt’s phone. “You sure your mates won’t mind?”

“Aye, like I said, we got the extra space.” They start making their way down the slightly muddy path. “One of the lads broke up with his girlfriend last week, so she didn’t come with.”

Miles makes a sympathetic noise. “Looks like bad news all around,” he says.

“Eh, it’s hard to be down when you’re at Glasto!” Matt grins at the scenery around them, nudging Miles. “So which acts are you looking forward to, then?”

“Can’t miss Paul McCartney headlining on Sunday,” Miles says as Matt nods in agreement. “Really looking forward to The Strokes on Saturday, too.”

They continue to discuss all the bands and acts that they intend to watch, and by the time they arrive at the Pennard Hill campsite, Miles has almost forgotten all about his friends’ horribly ill-timed prank. Matt leads him to four large, yellow tents pitched side by side, marked with a white flag. Upon closer inspection, Miles realises the flag bears a drawing of a Yorkshire rose with ‘SHEFFIELD’ stamped under it.

There’s a young couple sitting in the entrance of the first tent, a red-cheeked man with a bowl haircut beside a pretty blonde. “Alright, Cookie?” Matt greets the man, before bending down to kiss the blonde’s cheek. “Mornin’, Katie.”

Cookie’s gaze lands on Miles. “This the lad who were stranded by his mates?” he asks.

“Hiya, I’m Miles.” He leans down to shake hands with Cookie and his girlfriend. “Ta very much for savin’ me skin. Really appreciate it.”

“A Scouser!” Cookie exclaims with a grin, before pointing above them. “Mind the flag while you’re here.”

“Course, I have many mates from Sheffield,” Miles says with a laugh.

“Where’s the rest?” Matt asks his friends, gesturing around the campsite.

“Nick and Kelly went to get some brekkie,” Katie tells him, before exchanging a glance with Cookie who sighs.

“And our Al’s havin’ a bit of a brood, as usual.” Cookie jerks his thumb at the last tent, which is still zipped up. “Good luck getting him out.”

Matt lowers his voice conspiratorially as he leans in to tell Miles, “Al’s the one who broke up.”

Miles reckons that this is the bloke he’ll be sharing a tent with. “Is he really alright with me being here?”

Matt shrugs. “Alex was the first to say yes on the group chat.” He makes his way to the last tent, rapping on the pole. “Al, you there?”

There’s no response, so Matt waits a while before he yanks down the zipper. “Oi, waster!”

Miles hears someone shuffling inside on the canvas. “What is it?” someone answers impatiently in a low, rich baritone.

“We have company, Turner. Your tentmate’s here.”

“Brilliant.” Even from outside, Miles can hear the sarcasm dripping in that voice. “Tell ‘im to make himself at home, then.”

“Suit yourself.” Matt unzips the tent all the way down, lifting the flap so Miles can climb in.

There’s a man sprawled on the ground, propped up on his elbows. His face is half-hidden behind a curtain of long hair, but Miles can make out large, watchful eyes following his every move. “All right?” Miles greets him with a smile, but the man - Alex - just nods curtly at him and plugs in his earbuds again. Right, Miles thinks, looks like the bloke doesn’t want to chat.

There’s a lot of space in the tent, so Miles takes up a corner some distance from Al to give him his space. Truth be told, it’s not like Miles has anything much to begin with, aside from his jacket and phone. He’ll have to buy a sleeping bag from one of the camping stores onsite. A small single would do; if he spreads out too much, his feet would be touching Alex’s as they slept.

Sensing that he is being watched, Miles turns to find Alex staring at his leopard-print jacket. “That a prank from your mates, too?” he asks unexpectedly.

“Er, no.” Miles grins sheepishly at him. “It’s actually mine.”

A corner of Alex’s mouth curls up in amusement. “I wouldn’t admit that, if I were you.”

“Cheeky,” Miles says with a laugh. He sits back on his heels. “What’re ya listening to?”

Alex scrolls through what Miles can see is a Spotify playlist. “My personal Glasto playlist.”

“I have one too.” Miles fishes his phone out, eager to share until he remembers. “Fuck, me phone’s dead.”

Rolling towards his bag, Alex digs through it for a while before fishing out a power bank. “Ere, reckon this’ll help. Cable?”

“Iphone,” Miles says, still a little amazed that the seemingly taciturn Alex is starting to open up to him. Alex hands him the correct cable, and Miles sighs in relief as he plugs his phone in.

“There, sorted.” Alex looks up at Miles now in earnest. Without his hair obscuring his face, Miles is a little struck by how good-looking Alex is. “You from Liverpool?”

“The Wirral,” Miles says almost apologetically. “Not quite Merseyside, but--”

Alex waves dismissively at him. “Doesn’t matter. Beatles or no?”

Miles is mildly outraged at the idea that _anyone_ can not love the Beatles. “Course, laa! I’m going to camp out at the Pyramid Stage for Sir Paul.”

Alex gives him a long, slow smile of approval.

 

 


	2. The dark of the matinee

 

Miles is familiar with the term ‘fast friends’, but honestly it doesn’t even _begin_ to describe just how quickly he and Alex get on like a house on fire. Usually Miles gets along with everyone and has no problem chatting with strangers, but Alex Turner is on an entirely different level. It takes no time at all to discover that he and Alex have the same absurd sense of humour and the same eclectic tastes in music - everything from Ennio Morricone to the Wu-Tang Clan - plus it feels like Miles has known him for years. Alex is just so easy to talk to.

At first they’d nearly gotten off on the wrong foot. Alex is the type who takes bloody ages to respond to a question, blinking a little in deep thought before he answers in slow, measured tones. Miles initially mistook Alex’s lethargy for disinterest, but he’d quickly realised the error of his ways. Alex is the opposite of those idiotic people who yammer on anxiously just to fill in silences. No, Alex takes his time to think, and when he _does_ respond, it’s usually something really meaningful that makes Miles think in turn.

They’re so deep in discussion over some Joe Cocker song that Miles doesn’t even notice that his phone has come back to life until the brightly lit screen catches his eye. It’s buzzing furiously with what must be delayed notifications, texts and missed calls from his arsehole friends. Careful not to dislodge Alex’s power bank - his battery is still only at 10% - Miles gingerly picks up his phone once it stops buzzing and scrolls through the notifications.

There’s like a million texts from the group chat, then individually from Jamie, Zach, Tyler-- fuck, there’s even a few from Cam, who wasn't able to join them for Glasto. It’s like the whole bloody world is looking for Miles while he’s been chatting it up in a tent with a bloke - an unfairly handsome one, mind - who is fast becoming his new best friend.

“Everything alright?” Alex asks curiously.

“It’s me mates, they’re wondering where I am,” Miles replies distractedly. Jesus, 84 messages? The majority of them are from Jamie, starting from three hours ago when Miles was still asleep and blissfully unaware of his plight. He starts from the earliest message.

_[09:04]  
Jamie T: wakey wakey kane!_

_[09:06]  
Jamie T: told u i’d get u back for the curry incident haha_

_[09:06]  
Jamie T: lets see how u get out of this one lol_

_[09:32]  
Jamie T: found us yet? we’re not far_

_[09:57]  
Jamie T: oi u sulking_

_[10:13]  
Jamie T: oiiiiiiiiii_

_[10:34]  
Jamie T: where r u? we went bck to the campsite but u vanished_

_[10:36]  
Jamie T: calling u_

_[10:49]  
Jamie T: k srsly stop sulking u daft git, turn on ur phone_

_[11:48]  
Jamie T: fine u win, pls call one of us asap cos zach n tyler r ready to make a police report_

There are several other messages in that same vein from Tyler and Zach, along with those in their group-chat. Miles knows he should let them know he’s safe, although it’s honestly tempting to let those tossers stew in their own juices for a bit. But Miles isn’t a cruel bloke, so he thumbs out a response.

_[12:01]  
Miles: I’m over at Pennard Hill. Where are you guys_

The response is swift and immediate.

 _[12:01]_  
_Zach: OH THANK FUCK_  
_Zach: WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU EARLIER_  
_Tyler: we looked all over 4 U bro_  
_Jamie T: well played kane, well played [eyeroll emoji]_

Miles snorts at his phone, making Alex glance over at him. Even without looking Miles can already sense what Alex’s unspoken question is. “Me mates think I disappeared just to get back at them,” Miles informs him, which causes Alex’s brow to crease in a frown.

“That’s utter bollocks,” Alex tells him. “You were trying to find them earlier. Till our Matt found you instead.”

“Guess they’re just relieved I’m not lying in a bathtub of ice somewhere,” Miles mutters, as Alex laughs. It’s a low, pleasant sound that makes Miles’ skin prickle. Unfortunately, Miles’ thoughts are interrupted by the insistent ringing of his phone, Jamie’s number flashing on the caller-ID. “Oh bloody hell, here we go.”

When Miles swipes the ‘Slide to Answer’ button, he can already hear Jamie’s tinny voice mid-yell. “-- the fuck were you, Kane? We were worried sick!”

“Alright, alright, calm down, laa.” It’s difficult, holding up both Alex’s power bank and his phone to his ear. “I went to the Lost and Found tent to look for you gits, okay?”

There’s a muffled discussion in the background, followed by scuffling noises. Miles suspects he’s on speakerphone. “Hey man.” Zach has taken over the phone, sounding a lot calmer than Jamie. “We went there to look for you too, at the Lost and Found near William’s Green. The lady said you went off with some dude?”

Miles barks out a laugh. “Yeah, I met a bloke named Matt. He and his mates heard about my predicament, and they practically adopted me, like. They’re really nice.” He shoots Alex a quick glance and it’s hard not to miss the way the corner of Alex’s mouth twitches up in a secretive smile.

Zach sighs. “Okay, we get it, we’re glad for your new pals.” Muffled sounds again, which means Zach’s covering the mouthpiece briefly as he updates the rest. “So, you wanna meet us in fifteen?”

“What, right now?” It all seems a little too sudden for Miles. Then again, that should be the next logical step, right? He should stop bothering these very nice lads and go back to his arsehole friends and his own tent. Alex doesn’t say anything either; instead he’s staring at the ground, his mouth in an unhappy twist.

“Yeah, _right now_.” Zach sounds like he’s on the verge of chuckling. “Don’t you want your stuff back, man? And to hang out with us again?”

“Ehm.” Miles pulls his phone away to look at the time. “Look, at least let me shout these lads some lunch as a thank-you, yeah? I’ll meet you lot at around 2 o’clock.”

There’s some muttering on the other end of the line, but it sounds favourable. His friends are now more easily mollified given that Miles isn’t lying in a gutter somewhere and seems to have met decent people. After agreeing to meet later under the metal tower in William’s Green, Miles hangs up with a sigh of relief.

“Well, I’m sure you heard everything,” Miles tells Alex with as much fake cheer as he can muster. “Let’s go grab something to eat, before I-- I head back.”

Maybe it’s wishful thinking on Miles’ part, but there’s a little frown between Alex’s eyebrows as he toys with his earphones, his movements stiff and reluctant. “Yeah, alright,” he says at last, seeming perturbed. Miles isn't sure what's bothering Alex, though. Given how quickly they’d connected, maybe Alex’s unhappiness isn’t quite imagined after all.

Miles breaks the news to the others; while they seem disappointed to see him go, they’re glad that he’s not stranded anymore. “Let me buy all of you lunch, at least,” Miles offers. “To thank you lot for taking me in.”

“We didn’t do nowt, really,” Matt says with a laugh. “But you won’t catch me turning down free food.”

It's time to leave the campsite anyway, so everyone pulls on their wellies and zips up their tents, Alex straggling behind to blow a kiss to the Sheffield flag. Miles waits for him with a grin, ruffling his hair before slipping an arm around Alex’s broad shoulders as though he’d been doing it for years.

Cookie - whose real name is also coincidentally Jamie - and Katie decide on the spur of the moment to head to the Circus fields before the crowds descend, so they wish Miles the best and head off, hand in hand. This leaves Miles to chat with Nick and his girlfriend Kelly, who he’d only met later, while Alex hangs off Miles’ side and interjects Nick’s amusing anecdotes with details he’d missed out. Matt is on the phone, presumably with his fiancee who is stuck at work and coming to join them later today.

They must have walked aimlessly for ages, which is not unusual for Glastonbury. Miles still remember his first visit five years ago, stumbling around in complete awe at the sheer size of the festival site. The papers claim that there are over 200,000 revellers each year, and all these people have to fit onto a site the size of a small city. Miles tries to imagine the Wirral being overrun with 200,000 people, but fails. He still can’t wrap his mind around it, even after having attended Glasto twice.

On the other hand, Alex and his friends have been coming for almost a decade. They point out familiar spots to Miles, listing the most memorable sets they’ve watched and the best food they’ve eaten. The vote seems unanimous for the infamous bacon butty food truck near the Pilton Palais, so that’s where Miles suggests they have lunch. The round of cheers suggest he’s made the right choice.

“Just as well,” Alex tells him. “It’s near William’s Green, so you won’t have to go far to meet your mates, yeah?”

_Fuck._ Miles had almost forgotten about that. He’s been having such a good time chatting to his new friends that it’d slipped his mind. “Yeah, I guess,” he says, hating the misery in his voice. It’s not as though he’ll never see Alex and the rest again; they’d spoken about making plans to meet for certain acts to watch them together. Still, a short meeting here and there isn’t quite the same.

A quick glance at his phone shows him that Miles has just over an hour and a half left with them. “C’mon, let’s get some nosh.”

True to his word, Miles pays for the sandwiches and smacks Alex’s wallet away when the bugger tries to sneak in his share. “Oi, none of that, Turner!”

Alex rolls his eyes. “Fine, I’ll go get us a few pints then.” Miles watches him trot off to the beer tent, and maybe it’s his impending departure but it lets Miles feel reckless enough to watch the lovely curve of Alex’s arse in those tight jeans. Fuck, how is it fair that someone as witty, sharp and fascinating as Alex also be in possession of that fantastic bum and those wide, see-right-through-you eyes?

“Miles?” Nick’s quiet, amused voice jolts Miles out of his lurid daydreams as he realises he's still standing in line and the impatient food truck owner is shooing him away. Nick is smiling at Miles like he knows the world’s best joke but he’s not quite ready to share with anyone yet.

“Shite, sorry, sorry.” Miles feels his face flushed with heat as he dodges out of the queue, a bit mortified that he’d been caught staring at Alex. Is Nick going to tell on him? Probably, once Miles fucks off and becomes a distant memory. He might feature next in Nick’s witty Glasto anecdotes: _hey Al, remember that leopard-print perv you almost shared a tent with--_

“Here.” Alex’s voice in his ear is like a soothing balm for Miles’ frazzled nerves. Looking down, he notices that Alex has pushed a pint of lovely cold cider in his hand. “Let’s go find a place to sit and eat.”

Everyone now has their sandwiches and a pint of beer or cider, but every available spot of grass in the shade is already occupied by people eating, napping or resting. “In there, then,” Alex says, pointing towards the nearby Pilton Palais tent. Miles vaguely remembers catching one of the Star Wars films there the last time he was here, although it was really an excuse to get out of the sun and kip a bit. The group make their way in quietly. On the screen is the latest Alien movie, which makes Nick pump his fist in glee.

“Might as well,” Alex whispers to Miles, so they all pick a patch of grass and sprawl out. It’s a cool respite from the hot sun and blazing weather. To his left, Miles can make out Nick and Kelly getting comfortable, Nick catching her up on the plot in a low whisper as they eat. Miles makes quick work of his own bacon butty, trying to make sense of the story. As far as he knows, the main characters are daft if they don’t know how to follow the Do Not Touch Strange Shite rule that should pretty much be the law for all horror and sci-fi movies. He washes the food down with Alex’s cider, pleased that Alex'd sensed what he wanted without even asking.

 _Wishful thinking, Kane,_ Miles reminds himself. He’s done chasing after unattainable straight blokes, even the ones who look and laugh like a certain Alex Turner.

“Move over,” Alex grunts beside him, as if on cue. Matt is apologetically crawling his way out, phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder and whispering to them that he’s off to pick up his fiancee. Nick and Kelly have finished eating and have laid down side by side, Kelly’s head cradled on Nick’s shoulder. Alex does the same, balling his leather jacket under his head and lying down with a sigh. He stares up at Miles, patting the ground beside him enticingly. Fuck, how is Miles supposed to say no to those wide brown eyes? Sighing, he lays down too and lets Alex pull him closer. Alex smells like cigarettes, aftershave and grass.

Miles surreptitiously checks the time again. Still another hour to go until he has to meet his friends, until he has to say goodbye to all this. He presses his cheek against Alex’s bicep, trying too hard not to think about it.

***

Miles jolts awake when a loud explosion startles everyone in the tent, followed by the loud, chest-rattling roar of a T-Rex. Beside him, Alex is still sound asleep, lips parted, his long lashes resting on his cheeks. Nick and Kelly are rubbing their eyes and blinking blearily in confusion, which means they had fallen asleep as well. “Fuck, how long were we out?” Nick asks loudly, earning dirty looks from the audience members nearby.

Shit, Nick is right. The Alien movie is obviously finished and some dinosaur movie is already in progress. Panicked, Miles quickly pulls out his phone. His jaw drops in dismay when he notices it’s past 3pm. How on earth had he slept that long? There are several missed calls from his friends, but no messages. Miles realises why when he sees that his phone has no network. He tries to call them back, but it’s impossible to pick up even a bar of reception.

“Be right back,” Miles tells Nick who gives him a worried nod, scrambling to his feet and running out of the tent as fast as possible. The tower at William’s Green is nearby, but there are far too many people swarming the place. Of course everyone else and their brother would think of it as a suitable meeting point for them and their mates too. Nonetheless, Miles continues to search the crowd for his friends, but there is no Jamie, Tyler or even Zach, who is easier to spot with the way he usually towers over everyone else.

He waits at least fifteen minutes before he makes his way back to Pilton Palais, his heart pounding in his throat. Whether it is caused by disappointment or elation, Miles honestly doesn’t know.


	3. You look like you've been for breakfast at the Heartbreak Hotel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Disclaimer: I’m sure Arielle Vandenberg is a nice person in real life. Therefore, the fictionalised version of her in this story is just that: pure fiction._

 

The next few calls to Jamie and the others all go to voicemail. Miles refuses to stop trying, not when the network is back up for a few precious minutes. Network outages are an unfortunately common occurrence at most festivals, Miles knows that. It’s bound to happen with several thousands of people all in the same area, trying to use their phones at the same time. But honestly, this couldn’t have come at a worse moment. Miles gives up when he loses the last remaining bar on his phone, which is now ominously silent in his hand.

Back at Pilton Palais, Miles finds Nick and Kelly where he’d last left them. Alex is already awake, sitting up and looking miserable as he picks viciously at random blades of grass. Maybe Miles is imagining the way Alex’s eyes widen in surprise - and relief - when Miles plops down beside them again. “Thought you’d left,” Alex says almost accusingly, but the way he eagerly scoots aside to make space for Miles shows that he’s anything but unhappy.

“Nah, I missed me mates again. I have the worst luck,” Miles whispers. People around them are starting to give them the evil eye for disrupting the movie, so Alex suggests that they leave Pilton Palais and head somewhere else.

The moment they step out of the tent, Alex whips out his pack of cigs and lights one up immediately, his cheeks hollowed as he takes a long drag of his cigarette. Miles can’t quite take his eyes off him. He’s been trying to quit on and off for a while now, but Alex just makes smoking look so _cool_. He’s honestly never seen a bloke as beautiful as Alex. Sure, Miles usually likes his women mysterious and his men ruggedly pretty. However, no one has ever ticked all the boxes the way Alex does.

Miles keeps stealing glances at Alex as they finish their cigs, chatting in a circle. Soon they’re joined once again by Cookie and Katie who have finished their wandering of the Tent and Circus fields, regaling the others with sightings of trapeze artists and punk clowns on stilts. Finding himself admiring Alex’s broad hands and long, elegant fingers instead, Miles spaces out until someone’s nudging him.

“--Hello? Miles? Still with us, mate?” Nick’s raised eyebrow indicates that he’s probably repeated his question a few times.

“Sorry, I’m just knackered,” Miles says a little unconvincingly, shaking himself out of his Al-induced stupor. _Get a hold of yourself, Kane._ “What did you say?”

Nick still looks skeptical. “I asked: what are you going to do now since you didn’t get to meet your mates?”

Miles sighs, rubbing his face. “Dunno, guess I’ll try to get hold of Jamie and the others again.”

“Why’d you want to go back to the other Jamie?” Alex asks. The way he pronounces Jamie’s name - ‘Jameh’ - should not endear him even more to Miles, but it does. “We’ve got a Jamie too. A far superior one, I might add.”

Cookie rewards them with an eye-roll. “Go on then, Turner, pull the other one.”

“What?” Alex looks indignant as he dodges Cookie’s playful MMA-style jabs. “I weren’t taking the piss!”

Now it’s Nick’s turn to roll his eyes heavenward as Alex and Cookie scuffle together, each trying to get the other in a headlock. “Anyway Miles, the offer to stay with us still stands, if you like,” Nick continues, wrapping an arm around Kelly’s waist as she nods as well. “We really don’t mind.”

Miles honestly doesn’t know how he got so lucky with these blokes, grinning at all of them in gratitude. “Ta, mate. Can’t express how grateful I am, to be honest.” And really Miles is, even as he feels a little guilty for the way he catches Alex grinning at him from under Cookie’s hold, his smile warm and unbearably fond.  
  


***  
  


Sometime in the evening, Zach is the one who finally picks up one of Miles’ calls, answering tiredly without any preamble: “Dude, where were you?”

Miles winces, hanging back a little so that Alex and the others could walk ahead first. “Fuck, I’m really sorry, me. I accidentally fell asleep and overshot the time--”

“Jamie is, like, super pissed at you,” Zach cuts him off. “He thinks you did it to get back at him for this morning’s prank. Which he really felt bad about, by the way. So when you didn’t show, he got pretty mad.”

“Yeah, I reckoned that one out when he wouldn’t answer me calls or texts,” Miles says with a sigh. “Can you talk to him for me?”

“I’ll try.” However, Zach sounds quite doubtful. “Um, maybe you should give him a day to cool off, y’know?”

“Ehm, all right. I guess for tonight, I could stay with the Sheffie lads I met earlier.” Miles throws a glance over at Alex and the others, who are still in front of him. They’re taking turns saying their names into Matt’s phone, then replaying it backwards on some app and laughing hysterically. “Just keep me updated, yeah?”

After arranging for Zach to leave his bag at Lost and Found, Miles hangs up and sends one last apologetic text to the group chat, telling them where he is and that he’ll see them tomorrow. Zach responds with a thumbs-up emoji, but there’s no answer from Tyler and Jamie. Miles wonders how it is possible that he and his friends could have gotten off to such a shite start for something they’d looked forward to for ages. All Miles and his friends had ever talked about for the last few months was Glastonbury.

“Oi.” Alex’s arm is suddenly warm around Miles, so close that their hips are bumping together. Something must show on Miles’ face, because Alex’s voice has dipped to a low, comforting rumble. “Sorted it out with your mates?”

“Something like that.” Miles explains what happened, the rest slowing down to listen to his tale of woe as well.

“Their loss, then. Because we get to keep your sorry arse!” Matt declares to laughter and cheers of agreement from the others. He’d rejoined them earlier, after picking up his fiancee Breana from the coach gates. Like Zach and Tyler, she is a transplant from Los Angeles as well. Having chatted to Breana about his last trip to LA, Miles very much enjoys her easy-going manner, similar to Matt himself.

“As per tradition, we’re getting pissed the night before Glasto officially kicks off,” Alex announces. “Who’s up for some margaritas?”

It must be an inside joke because the rest are chuckling as Alex points at every one of them, offering, “Margarita? Margarita?” His finger lands on a blushing Breana, who places a protective hand over her stomach. “Ah, none for you and Baby Helders!”

“Yeah, no alcohol allowed so bugger off,” Matt tells Alex, before he spots Miles’s confused expression. “Al works as a barman at one of Sheffield’s four-star hotels,” Matt says by way of explanation. “His unhealthy obsession with margaritas is a running joke with us.”

“I see,” Miles says, nodding. “Also, congratulations! I didn’t know you were pregnant, Breana.”

“Our Matt’s an agile beast,” Cookie says with a wink, quickly dodging out of the way as Matt aims for a kick at his arse.

While waiting for Alex, Nick and Cookie to return with the drinks, the girls join the long snaking queue for the toilets. Stuck with holding Breana’s purse, Matt opts to show Miles some of their older photos from their past trips to Glastonbury. Miles is honestly surprised at the number of homemade videos and photos Matt has uploaded to Facebook for posterity, and most of them look like they were quite well-edited and put together. Matt being a vlogger makes sense, given how Miles has caught him talking to his phone camera a number of times.

Now Matt is enlarging a photo on his phone screen so that Miles can get a better look. “I’d say this were our second-- no, third? Yeah, our third time at Glasto.” Miles leans in, smiling at all their astonishingly young, spotty faces and awful haircuts. His eye is almost instantly drawn to a much younger Alex, standing beside a shaggy-haired Cookie. Young Alex is almost dwarfed by his baggy hoodie as he grins earnestly at the camera, his longer, curlier hair swept to the side and tucked behind his ear. He has his arm around a chic, dark-haired girl in leopard print heels who is a little taller than him. Both of them don’t seem to care in the slightest about the height difference.

Despite his better instincts, Miles finds himself asking, “Is that the girl Alex just broke up with?”

“Who?” Matt peers at the screen. “Nah, that’s Lexa. She were with Al too, but that were ages ago. Everybody loved Lexa.” Now Matt sounds a bit wistful. “They had to split up when she moved to America for work. Poor Al was gutted for a long time.”

Miles doesn’t say anything, he just stares at the photo. Even though he hadn’t known Alex back then, he wishes he could have been there with him, for all his heartbreaks. It has absolutely nothing to do with his inappropriate desire to snog Alex or take him to bed; Miles just hates thinking of Alex in any kind of pain.

Matt must have seen Miles’ frown, for he continues with, “Don’t worry, our Al moved on. There were a few other girls, of course. Then...Arielle.” The fondness has entirely left Matt’s voice, his mouth a flat line. “She’s the one who-- Well, maybe it’s better you hear it straight from Al himself instead of me, mate.”

Nick returns at that moment with the first of their drinks, his hair tied up in a ponytail. “Who’re you lot talking about?” he asks, handing out their margaritas.

Matt zooms out of the photo. “Who’d ya think?” he replies sardonically.

Nodding, Nick seems to get it instantly. “Oh aye, you telling Miles about the wicked witch of the west?.”

“No other.” Matt clinks his cup against Nick’s. “Good riddance and all that. Bree really regrets introducing her to Al, y’know?”

“Weren’t Bree’s fault,” Nick says, thoughtfully sipping his drink. “We can’t be blamed for the bad behaviour of others, even if they’re our close mates.”

“Y’know, this is the most we’ve seen Al smile in _months_ ,” Matt admits to Miles. “Even ‘afore he and Arielle split up, they were having all these blazing rows.”

“Al would have this tight, pinched look most days.” Nick lifts his shoulder in a shrug, before raising his own cup to toast Miles. “Today’s the first time in ages that I’ve seen that mardy fucker smiling like it were Christmas. So if you wanted to stay with us throughout the entire festival, we wouldn’t be violently opposed to the idea.”

Miles is seriously speechless. “You lads…” He shakes his head, overwhelmed by the kindness that Matt and Nick are masquerading as teasing before he collects himself. “The pleasure were all mine, honestly.”

Matt cocks his head, puzzled. “Funny thing, really. Cos Al usually takes a while to warm up to people. You two really get on like a house on fire.” It’s a testament to what a nice bloke Matt is that there’s no envy or jealousy in his voice, only wonder.

“Yeah, thick as thieves, you two are,” Nick says with a knowing smirk. Miles tries not to look too much into his teasing tone.  
  


***  
  


Alex and the rest truly live up to their promises to get stupidly drunk and have the time of their lives. Miles limits his alcohol intake after his first margarita, remembering he has to pick up his bag from Zach at some point or else he’d have no more money or clothes. Alex stubbornly sticks to Miles’ side the entire night - not that Miles is complaining - and faithfully explains every inside joke or reference that comes up throughout the night. Miles leans in close too, close enough to feel puffs of Alex’s lime-and-tequila-scented breath against his ear every time Alex says something.

At some point, they’re sitting on the steps at the Beat Hotel, trading stories about horrible dates they’ve all been on. Katie talks about one where her date had photoshopped her head onto pictures of lingerie models, while Matt complains about a past girlfriend whose mum had followed them on their dates. It’s too late for Miles when he notices almost everyone’s had their turn, and they’re now swiveling towards him, looking at him expectantly.

He owes them that much to be honest, and this seems like the perfect opportunity. “This bloke I went out with twice, he were so closeted,” he begins, just to test the waters. No one looks particularly surprised or judgmental, they’re just nodding drunkenly at him. “Now, I’m not one to dictate what someone should do about their sexuality, y’know? But he were so odd and secretive about it.”

“Then why were he on a date with you?” Matt asks, looking more curious than anything else.

“Ehm, dunno, really.” Miles shrugs, swirling his cola. “He looked terrified when I tried to hold his hand. Think if I’d tried to grope his arse, he would have burst into flames.”

They chuckle and move on seamlessly to Breana’s turn, like Miles’ dating blokes is no big revelation (which is really all Miles could have hoped for). However, Cookie won’t quite meet his gaze, and Alex is just-- Alex is staring at Miles with those large, luminous eyes, looking as though he’s contemplating something, turning it over and over in his head.

“Penny for your thoughts, Al?” Miles lowers his voice, as the conversation amongst the group has moved on to a politician rumoured to be closeted.

When Alex finally does smile at him, drunk and lopsided, it’s like day breaking. Miles instantly feels the tight tension seep out of his ribcage. “Just thinking, Mi.” Alex rests his head against Miles’ shoulder, his hair tickling Miles’ neck. “Just thinking.”  
  


***  
  


While Alex and the others stagger back to their campsite, Miles dashes over to the Lost and Found to collect his bag. He’s disappointed when he realises Zach hasn’t packed everything, just the essentials and a few of his clothes. Maybe Zach is relatively confident that Miles and Jamie would reconcile in no time, and that Miles will be back with them tomorrow.

Also, there's no sleeping bag. It’s possible Zach forgot to pack it, but Miles wouldn’t put it past some arsehole nicking it from Lost and Found.

Trudging back to Pennard Hill, Miles tucks his hands deep into his pockets and shivers. By the time he sights the white Sheffield flag, the tents are all zipped up, except for Alex’s on the far end. When Miles climbs in, Alex’s face lights up. “Got your stuff?”

“Not all of it,” Miles says, and maybe he’s more drunk than he thinks because something like disappointment flits across Alex’s expression. “You going to turn in now?”

“In a bit.” Alex holds up the set times schedule that he’s studying. “I'm getting up early so we won't miss the secret set opening the Other Stage tomorrow. Who d’ya reckon it will be?”

“I’d be chuffed if it were the Libertines,” Miles says, unpacking his bag in his corner. The so-called ‘secret’ gigs at Glastonbury are anything but a bloody secret, and the rumours are flying hard and fast this year about the few surprise acts lined up for various stages. “What about you?”

“Catfish and the Bottlemen, I reckon.” Alex gives him a hopeful grin. “You’re coming with us, right? Because don’t think I’m not above dragging your sorry arse there.”

“Course I will,” Miles says with a laugh, a little warmed that Alex wants him around all the time, even if it is in a platonic sense. “You terrify me, Turner.”

They chat for a bit more before Alex turns off his camping lamp and burrows down inside his sleeping bag. It’s a double, so undoubtedly he’d meant to share it with the infamous Arielle. For a unexpected moment, Miles has to swallow down sudden, ugly rage at some girl he doesn’t know for hurting Alex, for making Nick, Matt and Cookie so worried about their friend.

In the darkness, that rage goes away as quickly as it came. Miles is left with the soft, even sound of Alex’s breathing.

Putting on as many layers as he can, Miles lays out his jacket on the cold groundsheet before lying down on top of it. He lays there for a long while - a minute? An hour? - and wraps his arms tighter around himself, trying not to fucking shiver. Christ, he’d forgotten how cold it could get at night on the Glasto campgrounds. He’d spent most of yesterday night passed out after getting pissed, but now that he’s mostly sober, it’s hard to nod off.

“I can hear your teeth chattering from ‘ere.” Alex’s voice is low and drowsy with sleep. “Just get over ‘ere already, for fuck’s sake.”

From anyone else, it is an offer that Miles will accept in a heartbeat. However, there’s the nagging feeling like he’s taking advantage of Alex. “Nah, I’ll be alright, laa.”

There’s a rustling sound, and the tent is instantaneously brightened with the harsh glare of Alex’s phone torch. He’s squinting at Miles, his hair adorably mussed and curling around his face. “Don’t be daft. ‘S big enough for two,” he says with a yawn, lifting up the flap in invitation.

 _I tried to be good,_ Miles tells whichever deity that had put him in this precarious position as he scoots over and into Alex’s sleeping bag, letting out a small ‘oof’ as Alex drapes a heavy arm across him. Past Alex may have been a slim, scrawny bloke, but Present Alex has definitely paid several fruitful visits to the gym. Miles desperately tries not to think about all that sturdy strength pinning him to the ground, his pulse quickening.

“Night, Mi.” Alex’s slurring already, breaths evening out as his eyelids flutter shut. This close, Miles can discern every single one of those long, pretty lashes. He just prays he doesn’t wake up with proof of just how much he likes being in Alex's proximity.

“Night, Al,” Miles says, but Alex is already asleep.  
  


***  
  


When Miles opens his eyes, he’s alone in the now bright tent.

Yawning, he blindly reaches out to ascertain Alex’s whereabouts. His friend’s side of the sleeping bag is unzipped, and he’d tucked the majority of the padding over Miles, enough that Miles is now feeling a little warm and sweaty. Checking his phone, it’s just past nine in the morning. There are some messages from Zach and a concerned one from Cam, but Miles saves them for later, when he’s more awake.

He can hear two voices somewhere outside the tent - the low, deep baritone of Al’s voice and the soft, higher tenor of Matt’s - chatting quietly. The scent of cigarette smoke wafts through the air.

“--dunno, really,” Matt is saying with a sigh. “But it’s not that uncommon, yeah? Gaz’s mum left his dad and moved in with her new girlfriend when she were, like, 56 or summat.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath. “56?” Alex echoes. “Isn’t that too old for someone to figure out that they were a closet lesbian? Fuck, guess I should be glad I’m trying to get it sorted now.”

“What, figuring out you’re a lesbian?”

“Fuck off.”

There are chuckles, followed by a long thoughtful silence. Miles can hear the ‘click’ of their Zippos lighting fresh cigs. He continues to lie very still, his heart beating in his throat.

“Look.” Matt clearly sounds like he’s at a loss. “For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve dated birds. And now you’re discovering you find blokes attractive. Nowt wrong with that, y’know. It happens.”

“Not all blokes. Just the one,” Alex corrects him, before heaving a frustrated sigh. “This shite is all so new to me. Confusing, even.” Alex sounds so miserable here that Miles wants to crawl out of the tent and wrap him immediately in a hug, never mind his own all-consuming jealousy that there’s some ridiculously lucky twat running around Sheffield who Alex is infatuated with.

“Just...see where it goes, mate,” Matt sagely says. His sombre tone changes immediately, his voice now louder and cheerier. “Morning, luv. How’s the queue for the showers?”

“Hey honey,” Breana’s voice floats over. “Pretty bad, but the line for the guys’ showers are decent if you wanna try your luck.”

“Want me to get in the girls’ queue for you and hold your space?” Matt gallantly offers.

“Are you sure?” Breana sounds doubtful. “Remember last year, when those other girls behind you thought that you were a pervert and hit you with their towels?”

“Ah, that were glorious,” Alex says dreamily as Matt scoffs. “If it happens again, make sure you get it on video this time for the vlog, Helders.”

“Piss off, Turner.”

Tuning out the playful squabbling, Miles shifts in the sleeping bag and blinks up at the yellow canvas. So he has one question answered: Alex _does_ like men, even if it is just some stupidly lucky Sheffield tosser who Miles is _not_ insanely envious of.

“Just my luck,” he mutters to himself, rubbing his face. This year is really turning out to be the most shite Glastonbury ever.


	4. Are you mine tomorrow? (Or just mine tonight?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: _Please note that there will be explicit content from this chapter onwards._

 

By the time Miles emerges from the showers, he feels a little bit more human. He’s forced himself to stop ruminating over Alex’s words earlier, putting them out of his mind as much as he can so that he can focus on enjoying his Glastonbury weekend instead. So what if Alex fancies someone else? It still doesn’t mean that they can’t be really good mates. Alex is someone who Miles would very much like to keep in his life.

Returning to the campsite, he finds a bleary-eyed Matt in front of his tent, spooning Yorkshire Gold tea into a few tin mugs while a battered kettle bubbles merrily on top of a tiny camping stove. Nearby, Cookie is attempting to shave with a disposable razor and a cup of soapy water while Katie holds up her compact mirror for him. “All right?” Miles greets them, rubbing his towel through his buzzcut. It’s liberating, having short hair for once.

Matt whistles at Miles’ Fred Perry tracksuit. It’s one of Miles’ favourites. “Nice kit, mate. Though I reckon that’ll get muddy in like, five seconds.”

“Don’t bloody jinx it, will you?” Miles says with a laugh, smacking Matt with his towel. He’s not really aware that he’s absently scanning their campsite in search of Alex, not until he realises Matt is giving him a knowing smirk.

“Al went to get a fresh pack of cigs,” Matt says airily, pouring hot water into the mugs with exaggerated precision. “In case you were, y’know, looking for him or summat.”

Miles isn’t sure why Matt’s last sentence sounds so loaded with meaning, or if it’s entirely his own imagination. “Er, okay? I weren’t really looking--”

“Nick and Kelly will be back from the showers in a bit too.” Cookie seems oblivious to whatever has just transpired, rinsing his razor in the cup filled with mucky water. “Then we can all go meet Turner at the Other Stage later.”

“Brilliant.” Miles has noticed that despite how much quieter he is than the others, Cookie is somehow the _de facto_ leader of the group. He’s the one who suggests their itinerary for the day and generally keeps everyone organised. He seems to be an alright bloke, although Miles isn’t sure if Cookie would be friends with him without Alex, Matt and Nick in the picture. Also, Miles suspects that Cookie is keeping his distance after Miles talked about his sexuality yesterday night, but at least he’s making an effort to include Miles in the group. He's even added Miles to their group chat - temporarily, at least - and the gesture isn't lost on Miles.

Still, he can’t help wondering what Cookie’s reaction will be if he finds out about Alex. Or that Miles spent the night in Alex’s arms and shared his sleeping bag.

“Gonna make a call,” Miles announces to the others as he steps away with his phone, receiving a sleepy wave from Matt and a distracted grunt from Cookie in response. Checking the time, Miles mentally calculates that 10am in the U.K. means that it’s now just past 5pm in Perth. He opens up FaceTime, pleased when he sees Cam is online and hits the video-call button.

Despite the utterly shite network, a fuzzy, pixelated image of Cam pops up on Miles’ screen, wearing a giant pair of headphones and a stern expression. “What the hell, Kane?” he says in lieu of a greeting. “Did you drop off the face of the earth?”

Miles rolls his eyes. “Don’t _you_ start. I’ve already heard enough from those other tossers.”

“Honestly, mate.” Cam’s shaking his head, which makes the screen wobble. “I leave you idiots alone for, like, a week and already you’re all at each other’s throats.”

“Listen, will you?” Miles tells Cam the whole sordid story, everything from the misfired pranks to Miles getting adopted by Matt and his friends to him accidentally abandoning Jamie at William’s Green. Miles thinks he’s doing a pretty good job of keeping a fair and objective stance, up till when he’s finished his lengthy tale and the first thing Cam asks him is: “Who’s Al?”

“Ehm, what?” Miles prays that the mild panic rising in his chest does not make it to his face. Cam is one of the few people who can read Miles like a book.

“You kept saying: “Al said this” and “Al said Jamie was in the wrong”. Naturally, I’m curious about this fella you mentioned heaps of times,” Cam says smoothly. “So, who’s he?”

Miles nervously glances over his shoulder. Luckily the others are out of earshot. “No one! Jesus, give over, will you? Al-- Alex is just a friend.”

By all rights, the screen resolution should not be clear enough for Miles to spot the way Cam is narrowing his eyes skeptically at him. “You sure?”

Miles can’t quite help the unhappy twist of his mouth when he remembers what Alex told Matt earlier. _Not all blokes. Just the one._ Even now the words still sting. “Yeah,” he finally grits out. “I’m sure.”

His tone must be convincing because Cam finally shrugs and leaves the subject. “Fine. I’ll talk to Jamie for you. But let me say, mate, if I find out you were having me on…” Here, Cam raises a finger in warning. “There’ll be trouble.”

Miles rolls his eyes. “Come off it, will ya--”

“ _Deep_ trouble,” Cam adds, giving Miles a sharklike grin before he abruptly signs off. Miles swipes away FaceTime on his phone, shaking his head. He needs better mates, honestly.  
  


***  
  


Despite Cookie’s best efforts, they’re almost late for the ‘secret’ band that is opening the Other Stage at 11 o’clock. They still haven’t managed to find Alex, so Miles keeps an eye out for him in the crowd. There are a number of fans who are wearing Libertines t-shirts, although Nick points out an enterprising duo toting a giant papier-mâché catfish costume as a tribute to Catfish and the Bottlemen. “Fuck, gotta get this for the vlog,” Matt mutters before making his way towards them with his phone camera, Breana following faithfully behind.

“That man’s obsessed.” Nick shakes his head, before leaning in and stage-whispering to Miles loudly: “Please don’t wander off and leave us alone with Jamie, yeah?”

“Oi!” Cookie huffs out a short laugh before playfully smacking Nick on the back of the head. “Bloody ingrates, the lot of you.”

Whatever Nick is about to retort is drowned out in loud cheers and whistles as Pete Doherty finally emerges on stage, arm in arm with Carl Barat. While the audience is applauding and shouting themselves hoarse, Cookie sighs dramatically and hands over a tenner to an extremely smug Nick, who makes a big show out of examining whether the money is fake. “You lads put wagers on the surprise sets?” Miles asks, more amused than anything.

“They do this every year,” Kelly tells him with a laugh.

“And I never get tired of taking Cookie’s money,” Nick declares before the Libertines kick off their set with ‘Time for Heroes’, the crowd bopping along deliriously with the beat.

Miles loses himself in the music, pouncing on Matt when he returns to their fold, singing along in a surprisingly nice falsetto. The Libertines proceed to belt out a string of their greatest hits, throwing in a few new songs into the mix. Pausing for a smoke, Miles sings along whenever he knows the lyrics. Sometimes he absently turns to his right, something silly or funny on the tip of his tongue before he remembers Alex isn’t here.

After the set, the crowd disperses with most people heading for food, alcohol or the loo. Miles is about to suggest lunch when Matt’s phone buzzes. “Al’s at the falafel place on the opposite side,” he announces, gesturing vaguely towards where most of the food stalls are. “He’s asking us to head there and meet him.”

“Why can’t he drag his lazy arse here instead?” Cookie complains. His cheeks are flushed red; whether from the sun or from annoyance, Miles can’t quite tell.

They go to meet Alex anyway, because there’s some time to kill before the next act they want to catch at the John Peel tent. Miles is humming under his breath, listening to Matt, Nick and Breana dissecting the Libertines setlist as they walk through the crowd. It’s odd for Miles to pretend that he isn’t looking forward to seeing Alex again. He hasn’t seen Alex all morning, and it’s embarrassing how co-dependent they already are despite only knowing each other for almost two days. No wonder Cam was concerned.

Miles guiltily glances down at his phone. He still hasn’t replied to any of Zach’s texts, and from the groupchat, Miles surmises that his friends have decided to watch some political panel at the Left Field instead. There’s rumours Jeremy Corbyn has been spotted onsite, and Miles knows Jamie will sell his right arm just to get a glimpse of his favourite politician.

“There’s the bugger.” Cookie points somewhere to Miles’ left, calling out Alex’s name. Miles scans the crowd, not quite spotting Alex until he walks right up to them and Miles’ jaw drops in utter shock.

 _Fucking hell._ This version of Alex standing in front of them is almost unrecognisable, dressed up to the nines like a proper rock star. He’s traded his band tees for a crisp black formal shirt, unbuttoned at the collar to reveal a silver chain resting on his lovely collarbones. His faded skintight jeans are tucked into shiny leather boots, and the whole ensemble is completed with a massive silver belt buckle and a comfortably worn leather jacket. Alex’s long hair is slicked back neatly with pomade, his face shaven smooth and free of stubble, looking ridiculously lickable. Miles knows that he must look completely gobsmacked, but he can’t stop drinking in the incredibly beautiful view in front of him.

“Sorry, everyone,” Alex says, practically preening before them. The stupid handsome bastard. “Couldn’t meet you lot for the Libertines because I bumped into an old mate. You remember James Ford?”

“Oh yeah.” Matt nods slowly in recognition. “The Manc from that funny electro band, right?”

“The very same. He says he’ll meet us tomorrow night at Shangri-La.” Alex gestures towards the food stalls. “Should we grab a bite first?”

They’re now talking about lunch options, but Miles is barely even listening. He’s well aware that he must look like he's struck stupid with pure lust, trying desperately not to drool. Wrenching his gaze away from Alex, Miles pretends to be busy with his phone instead. However, fate must hate him because he hears footsteps coming up, and now Alex is standing in front of him, hand brushing down the front of Miles’ tracksuit. “All right, Mi?” Alex practically purrs, so Miles _has_ to look up.

When their eyes meet, Alex’s gaze is so sultry that it makes Miles’ throat go dry. Alex is sex on legs, pure and simple, and Miles is so tempted to just lean in and tease those slightly parted lips, kiss them open, make Alex rumble with approval while Miles undoes his belt buckle--

“--do you think?” Alex is saying, and Miles snaps out of his lust-filled daze when he realises Alex has been talking to him this whole time.

Miles gives up on pretending that he was paying even one iota of attention. “Ehm, sorry. What do I think of what?”

Alex’s smile is positively wicked, almost triumphant like he’s won a personal victory of sorts. “I don’t look too shabby today, do I?” he says, gesturing at his outfit.

Now that he has permission to ogle, Miles gives Alex a blatant once-over with a sincere nod of approval. “You look very sharp, Al, proper sharp. You looking to pull tonight? “

Maybe Miles is imagining the slow dip of Alex’s gaze over Miles’ body. “What do you think, Kane?” Alex says, stepping closer so that he’s mere inches away, within kissing distance. Miles absently licks his lips, feeling his pocket rustle as he realises Alex is taking out Miles’ sunglasses and slipping them on with a sly smirk.

Fuck, how unfair is it that Alex looks a thousand times cooler in Miles’ pair of Oakleys? “Obviously yes,” Miles says, his voice a little hoarse. “Who's the lucky person?” _So I can kill him_ , Miles thinks jealously.

Alex just gives him a mysterious smile. “Oh, I have someone in mind.”

As Alex saunters away, Miles rubs his face and reminds himself not to entertain foolish notions. Alex obviously has his sights set on someone else. For some reason, Cam’s words from earlier are rattling around in his head. _Deep trouble_ , he’d warned Miles. But what good was a warning when it was already too late?  
  


***  
  


The group doesn’t quite stick together for the rest of the day. Everyone wants to see different bands and different acts so it makes sense for them to split into smaller factions where necessary. Whether by design or not, Miles always finds himself with Alex, Matt and Breana since they share similar musical tastes and a generally chill attitude towards festivals in general. It’s a refreshing change of pace for Miles, who spent his past two Glastonburys running all over the site with Jamie and the others in an effort to take in as much as possible and stave off Jamie’s FOMO.

They spend the day watching Glass Animals, Madness, Neneh Cherry and a random blues band that they stumbled across at the West Holts Stage. They walk past Arcadia and watch as workers finish assembling the famous giant 20-foot mechanical spider for tonight, where it will breathe out flumes of fire as dance music booms from large overhead speakers. They climb up the hill to the Glastonbury sign and take ridiculously hilarious selfies, then they sit down on the steep slope with ciders (and a lemonade for Breana) and watch the sun go down over the entirety of the Glastonbury site, a living and breathing village in itself. In the distance, Miles can hear the jagged riffs of Wolf Alice currently playing on the Other Stage. Alex is lounging next to him, their arms and thighs pressed together as he points out interesting sights to Miles, his voice low and intimate.

If Miles is any smarter, he would keep his distance and eventually return back to his own campsite with his own friends. But he’s so utterly gone on Alex that it’s ridiculous. Miles tells himself that it’s simply because it’s been a while since his last relationship. It surprises most people he knows, because they clearly believe Miles has the tendency to flirt with anything that moves. It’s not like he can help it; it comes naturally to him, like breathing. He also usually doesn’t mean anything by it, which is why he’s tired of people thinking he must be some kind of slag who can’t keep it in his trousers. When he means it, he _means_ it.

After the sun sets, they make their descent and Alex is telling him about how he and Matt tried to form a band in school, but it never really took off. Alex looks a little wistful here, so Miles doesn’t even think twice about taking Alex’s hand and squeezing it. Alex doesn’t say anything or pull away, but he squeezes back and doesn’t let go even when they’re back amidst masses of people again. At some point Matt glances back and catches sight of their linked hands, but he simply smiles to himself and tugs Breana closer to him, protecting her from the jostle of the crowd.

They eventually end up grabbing dinner in a quieter area of the Pyramid Stage, waiting for the Queens of the Stone Age who are Friday night’s headliners. An adorably obsessed Alex goes on and on about his hero Josh Homme, and this ends up being the catalyst for a discussion about the greatest American rock band to ever walk the earth. Breana fondly rolls her eyes at them and excuses herself, heading for the portaloos and leaving Matt, Alex and Miles to their playful argument.

“The Foos don’t even compare to QOTSA,” Alex firmly says. “Different league, mate. Apples and oranges.”

“You gotta admit that the Foos are extremely successful,” Matt insists. “‘Besides, they’re global. Everyone in the bloody English-speaking world knows at least one of their songs.”

“Doesn’t mean they’re the best,” Miles adds, which makes Alex go ‘hah!’ in triumph. “Hang on there, Al, I never said I agreed with you--”

“Course you do.” The look of utter betrayal on Alex's face is priceless. Alex seems surprised that Miles is even capable of having a different opinion from him. “You were just going on about ‘Lullabies to Paralyse’!”

“Yeah, great album and all,” Miles says. “But I'd have to put me money on The Pixies. Do you know how influential they are? They're fucking mega!”

“Okay, wait, I changed me mind,” Matt cuts in. “Nirvana. It’s gotta be Nirvana.”

They’re still arguing when Miles spots a worried Breana making her way back from the toilets, walking a little too briskly. When she reaches Matt, she tugs him aside and whispers urgently in his ear. Matt’s head whips up immediately, scanning the crowd until Breana points someone out to him and Matt visibly curses, ‘Fuck!’ in dismay.

Glancing at the direction that Breana is pointing in, Miles spots a tall, slender woman in festival gear with pink and blonde ombre hair. Only her side profile is visible from this angle, but even then Miles can tell she’s stunning.

“Hey, Al.” Matt’s tone is so urgent that Alex looks up immediately. “We gotta go, mate.”

“Why?” Alex frowns. “We've got a brilliant spot, I don't really wanna move.”

Matt’s eyes dart back to the pink-haired woman. “Arielle’s here.”

Alex's face instantly hardens in anger. “Where?”

“Don't look now,” Breana says quietly. “But she's at your five o'clock.”

Alex doesn't even bother to look, his mouth set in a firm line. “Fuck her. I'm not moving.”

Matt and Breana exchange an uneasy glance. Miles scoots closer to Alex, whose shoulders are hunched over as if he's trying to fold in on himself, appear smaller. His fists are clenched so tight that his knuckles are white. “All right?” Miles asks softly, even though he knows the question is moot. Alex is so clearly _anything_ but all right.

“Just--” Alex sighs, reaching over for Miles’ hand and hanging onto it with a death grip. He looks so lost and vulnerable that Miles wants to just bundle him up somewhere and protect him from the rest of the world. “Just don’t go anywhere, please Mi?”

“Course.” Miles squeezes back, nudging Alex’s shoulder with his own. “Sorry mate, there’s no getting rid of me. I'm a right pest, y’know?”

To Miles’ relief, a corner of Alex’s mouth crooks up in a little smile. “The best kind of pest,” he mutters, at which Miles just grins.

A worried Matt is scratching his head, clearly torn between hauling Alex somewhere far away from his ex or leaving him be. “If we’re staying here, then we’re going to need more alcohol. A _lot_ more alcohol.”

Breana nods. “I’ll come with.” Now they’re both looking questioningly at Miles.

“Don’t worry, I’ll fob her off if she comes over,” Miles assures them, which makes Matt smile appreciatively and mouth ‘thank you’ to him before he and Breana head off to join the long queue at the beer tent. Out of the corner of his eye, Miles can sense that the pink-haired woman - Arielle - is looking over in their direction, her body language hesitant. He lets himself breathe again when she finally turns and walks off instead. Soon she’s out of sight.

Alex says nothing, but his grip loosens on Miles’ hand. He’s completely lost in his thoughts, so Miles leaves him be, rubbing Alex’s back in an effort to soothe him. After some time, Miles wonders if Alex has forgotten that he’s even there. But when Miles moves away to stretch his spine a little, Alex’s grip on him tightens as if to ensure Miles won’t leave.

“Not going anywhere,” Miles promises. “Anyway I reckon she’s gone. And if she comes back...I know some wrestling moves.”

This actually startles a chuckle out of Alex. “Please tell me you’re not going to give me ex-girlfriend a table slam.”

“Course not,” Miles says with a sniff. “No tables ‘round these parts anyway.” He looks closely at Alex, who is at least smiling a little now. “Hey Al, can I ask--”

That ghost of a smile quickly vanishes. “She slept with one of me mates,” Alex says flatly. “They’re together now.”

Miles swallows the sudden lump in his throat. No wonder Matt and the others regard Arielle with such hostility. All Miles can manage is a heartfelt, “ _Fuck_.” Alex only nods, his face shuttered off again as he stares off into space. At least he’s still holding onto Miles’ hand, his thumb rubbing circles on Miles’ knuckles.

More silence passes, but it’s strangely comfortable and peaceful, the two of them in their little bubble of introspection while surrounded by chatting strangers waiting for the Queens of the Stone Age. After a while, Miles’ phone buzzes in his pocket; initially he thinks it’s Matt possibly checking up on them. But when he glances at his phone, it’s a text from Jamie.

_[21:42]_  
_Jamie T: we’re thinkin of grabbing a pint b4 london grammar_  
_Jamie T: meet u outside jp tent in 20?_

Miles stares at the message. It’s clearly Jamie’s attempt to extend the olive branch to him, which means Zach and Cam must have tried to talk him into reconciliation. But as much as Miles wants to patch things up with the others, he really can’t leave Alex here on his own like this.

_[21:44]_  
_Miles: Would love to, but can’t leave Pyramid Stage_  
_Miles: Really srry, J. Need to help out one of the lads_

Jamie’s response is exactly as Miles predicts.

_[21:50]_

_Jamie T: r u srs_  
_Miles: Yeah I’m not messing. Soz. I promise I’ll explain when I meet you lot tmrw._

It’s at least ten minutes before Jamie responds with a curt ‘k’, but Miles figures Jamie will understand once he tells his friends the whole sordid story tomorrow.

“You need to leave?” he hears Alex ask, his hand slipping out of Miles’ grip as he nods towards Miles’ phone. “You should go if your mates are looking for you. I’m fine, honest.”

Locking his phone screen, Miles slips it into his pocket and slings an arm around Alex. “Not going anywhere, remember?” he reminds Alex, ruffling his perfectly coiffed hair and eliciting a mock grumble. “You’re stuck with me, Turner.”

Alex’s smile is the best thing he’s seen all day.  
  


***  
  


The Queens of the Stone Age are one of the best live acts Miles has ever seen in his life. Their easy chemistry on stage is obvious, and Josh Homme’s banter between songs serves to rile up the crowd and get everyone dancing. They end their headlining set with ‘Go With the Flow’, and Alex sings along to every word in a deep, sultry voice that can easily give Josh Homme a run for his money.

After the gig, Alex is beaming and sweating and entirely radiant, the unpleasant run-in with his ex earlier seemingly forgotten. “Best band ever,” Alex declares, climbing on top of a nearby bench and whooping loudly. “I love Queens of the Stone Age!”

“That’s a really nice sentiment,” Nick tells him drily. “Except that you’re kind of mumbling the rest so everyone just heard you shout, ‘I love queens’, mate.”

“Can’t be arsed.” Alex reaches down and drags Miles over, pulling him up. “Come on, Mi, get up here on stage wi’ me.”

“Stage?” Miles echoes doubtfully, looking down warily to make sure that neither he or Alex tumble off the bench. “Al, you pillock, what’re you--”

Alex suddenly bursts into song. ” _Oh, what you do to me, no one knows_ ,” he croons, and Miles just can’t stop beaming at him. Alex’s voice is really lovely, sending goosebumps prickling all over Miles’ skin.

“All right, Sonny and Cher, get down from there,” Matt calls out, tugging them down onto safe ground. “I’m not too keen on having to call an ambulance when you two inevitably fall on your arses and split your empty heads open.”

“Yes, mum!” they yell in unison, before dissolving into laughter as Matt rolls his eyes at them. Alex and Miles end up yodelling a garbled version of ‘I Got You Babe’ all the way back to the campsite, arm in arm while a grinning Matt records them for his vlog and a long-suffering Nick claps his hands over his ears.

“I’m going to bed before me eardrums explode.” Nick gives them a wave, tugging a sleepy Kelly with him back to their tent. “See you lot tomorrow.”

Alex stops hanging off Miles to give Nick a fancy bow. “Have a very good evening, Master O’Malley,” he drones, which just sets Miles off in fits of laughter again.

“Piss off!” came the muffled reply before the tent is firmly zipped up.

“I’m afraid that’s it for me and the missus too,” Matt says, turning off his camera function and yawning. “So what time are we waking up tomorrow?”

They discuss arrangements before waving goodnight to Matt and Breana. Since the moon is still out, Alex wants to take a short walk around their campsite so Miles decides to tag along for a bit. They find a nice patch of grass near a closed coffee cart where they sit side by side, staring up at the inky night sky, chatting quietly about everything they’ve seen for their first proper day of Glastonbury. The excitement of the day is still running high in Miles’ blood.

“When was the last time you were here for Glasto again?” Alex asks, running his fingertips through the grass.

“Two years ago. The weather was shite, it weren’t all nice and clear like this.” Miles gestures vaguely at the clear night sky. “The mud was horrible. My boyfriend at the time wouldn’t stop whinging. Kinda opened me eyes to what a miserable sod he was, y’know? You don’t really get to know someone until you travel with them, I reckon.”

Alex only nods thoughtfully. “How long were you together?”

“Eight months, give or take,” Miles says. “It were me longest relationship with a bloke. Longest I’ve had with a girl was two years, back in uni.”

To Miles’ surprise, Alex turns away from him, his brow creased in thought. “I just-- I were curious--” he begins, hesitant.

“Ask away, Al,” Miles says gently.

“What’s the difference?” Alex asks. He’s staring down at his hands, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he clears his throat nervously. “Y’know, between kissing a bird and a bloke?”

Miles thinks about it. “Not much difference, to be honest. Guess you could say girls kiss softer, gentler, like. And blokes-- well they always kiss a bit firmer, for some reason. Like they want to take charge, y’know.”

The next thing Alex says is so quiet that Miles almost doesn’t catch it: “Could you show me?”

Miles just stares at him, unable to believe his good fortune. Alex wants Miles to kiss him? Actually _kiss_ him? Miles is positive that he may have heard wrongly, but the way Alex is refusing to look at him is a little strange.

Miles eventually finds his voice. “What, right now?”

The tips of Alex’s ears have turned a bright red. Then Alex nods once, stiffly.

“Okay, then.” Miles takes a deep breath, refusing to let himself read too much into Alex’s request. _He’s just curious, Kane. He likes another bloke, that’s all, don’t get your hopes up._ His hands are starting to turn clammy, his pulse racing as he turns to face Alex properly. The area they’re sitting in is thankfully a little quieter, but there’s still plenty of people walking about, on their way back to their own tents or to get more alcohol. No one would really blink an eye at two blokes kissing; Miles has seen far worse on the Glasto grounds.

When Miles finally gets a good look at his friend, his heart sinks. Alex’s body language is a little stiff and guarded, his shoulders hunched. He’s still not looking at Miles.

“All right, Al?” Miles keeps his tone gentle. “Y’know, it’s fine if you don’t want to do this.” Maybe Alex doesn’t really want to try kissing Miles, maybe he’s changed his mind and decided he wants to kiss that other bloke instead, the one he told Matt about--

Then Alex’s dark eyes flash up at him, and Miles’ mountain of doubts crumble instantly into dust. Fuck, the naked want in Alex’s eyes that is piercing right through him, into the very heart of him. “Didn’t change me mind,” Alex says firmly. His gaze drops to Miles’ mouth, and Miles is definitely not imagining the way Alex absently licks his lips, leaving them wet and inviting.

Miles’ throat goes dry. He is only human after all.

“Ehm, right.” Miles prays that Alex doesn’t hear how husky his voice is. He scoots closer so that they’re only separated by inches, taking this golden opportunity to examine every aspect of Alex’s remarkably beautiful face. The elegant slope of his nose, the rough stubble on his jaw, those ridiculous lashes that go out for miles.

 _In for a penny, in for a pound._ Miles figures he will never have this opportunity again. He inhales deeply to steel his nerves. Alex smells wonderful: a mix of cigarettes, woody cologne and that citrusy hipster hair pomade he uses.

“Get on with it,” Alex teasingly orders, and with the tension broken, they both smile tentatively at each other. Then Miles finally leans in, pressing a soft, experimental kiss against the corner of Alex’s mouth. Alex lets out a tiny sigh that Miles thinks he hadn’t meant to make, which lets Miles feel brave enough to slide their mouths together and _properly_ kiss Alex for the first time.

Miles has kissed a number of men and women in his lifetime, but none have ever made all his nerves sing the way Alex does. God, the way Alex’s mouth just _opens_ for Miles to invite him in makes all the heat pool in Miles’ stomach, and Miles can’t quite help the way his tongue slides into Alex’s mouth to properly taste him. Alex’s answering, helpless moan is so sexy that it goes straight to Miles’ cock, reminding him exactly how tight his track bottoms are. Miles can’t stop his hands from running through Alex’s thick hair, tugging on it in a way that makes Alex’s breath hitch.

 _Go slow, don’t scare him off_ , a little voice of caution in his head pops up. But when Alex lifts a hand to rake through Miles’ scalp before settling on the nape of his neck and rubbing it firmly, Miles feels quite justified in telling that voice to fuck off. He’s desperate for Alex, their tongues sliding together, the slick noises of their kisses ringing in his ears.

They finally pull apart for breath, both panting like crazy. Alex’s face is flushed, his pupils so dilated that his eyes are almost entirely black. The hungry way he’s taking Miles in makes Miles want to drag him to the nearest tent and do unspeakable things to him, to make Alex’s body sing with mind-blowing pleasure. He wants to make Alex moan like that again, he wants to thread his fingers through Alex’s hair as Alex wraps that beautiful, sinful mouth around his cock, sucking him until Miles loses his mind and comes down Alex’s throat. He wants to bury himself in Alex, make him cry out Miles’ name, make Alex so happy that he would never want to leave.

“Jesus, Mi.” Alex licks those reddened, kiss-bruised lips in a daze. “The way you’re looking at me--”

“I don't know any other way to look at you,” Miles blurts out, which is such a foolish thing to say. But Miles is helpless, he's so _stupid_ for Alex.

Thankfully it seems to be the correct thing to say judging from the brilliant smile that lights up Alex’s face. “Good, then don’t stop,” he demands, cupping Miles’ cheek before slanting their mouths together in a deeper, hungrier kiss. Miles loses himself in it, in the feel of Alex’s firm lips, the rough stubble on his cheeks, the soft silk of his hair through Miles’ fingers.

“Wait.” Miles pulls back - both for breath and for his sanity - and traces Alex’s kiss-bruised lips. “I can’t be-- I don’t want to be an experiment for you, Al.” _You mean too much_ , goes unsaid.

“Experiment?” Alex is frowning at him, confused. “Wait-what are you on about?”

Miles takes a deep breath. If he wants something real with Alex, he has to be honest with him. “I know about the other bloke. I didn’t mean to overhear you and Matt, I swear--”

“Other bloke?” Alex repeats. Now he’s staring at Miles as though he has grown three heads. “What other bloke?”

Miles’ words die in his throat as he blinks owlishly at Alex. “Didn’t you-- I heard you telling Matt that you fancied some guy--”

There’s a long, tense silence where Alex is just staring at him with those wide, piercing eyes, and Miles braces himself for the inevitable outburst of anger. Alex definitely won’t be pleased that Miles eavesdropped on his conversation with Matt, and he will definitely not like how Miles accused Alex of using him to appease his new sexual curiosity. _Two strikes, Kane._ Miles’ heart sinks in his chest, crushed at losing Alex so quickly before anything has even had the chance to bloom between them.

Then Alex does the most unexpected thing. He bursts into loud laughter, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

Miles watches the chuckling Alex in growing apprehension and confusion, not quite sure what to say. “Ehm, Al?” he ventures. “What’s so funny?”

“You,” Alex wheezes out, pitching forward so that he’s now sinking against Miles. His body is firm and warm in Miles’ arms, shaking with laughter. “You’re-- you’re the ‘other bloke’, you wally!”

The day flashes before Miles’ eyes. He’s reliving Alex's intricately calculated seduction ritual: that sexy leather jacket, his swept back hair, the complete lack of personal space, the way Alex kept licking his lips while he stared at Miles. “Fuckin’ hell,” Miles groans faintly, embarrassed beyond belief. “I _really_ am a wally.”

Alex’s laughter is starting to taper off, but it leaves him loose and limber, leaning heavily against Miles in a way that makes Miles wish Alex would just pin him to the ground. “You’re lucky you’re pretty fit,” Alex mumbles, hiccuping with chuckles. However, it doesn’t sound like he’s joking.

“Shite.” Miles is shaking his head, but not hard enough to dislodge Alex. “I can’t believe it. All this time...I’ve been jealous of meself.”

Now Alex is pulling away to look at him. There’s a strange light in his eyes. “You were jealous? Because you thought I fancied some other bloke?”

Part of Miles wants to seek refuge in jokes or silly teasing, but there’s something about Alex that makes Miles reluctant to play games or hide, even if it makes him feel like he’s flayed open, entirely at Alex’s mercy. “Yeah,” he finally admits, leaning in and brushing his nose against Alex’s cheek. “I were jealous.”

“Idiot.” The way Alex says it - so fond and full of affection as he nuzzles against the crook of Miles’ neck - takes the heat entirely out of the insult.

They sit there for a while in the moonlight, ignoring the growing chill as they watch revellers trudging back and forth, some of them singing along to ‘No One Knows’. Alex joins in too, his breath warm against Miles’ neck, and when he suggests that they head back to their tent, it’s easy for Miles to pretend his heart isn’t hammering a mile a minute in his chest.  
  


***  
  


Their clothes are haphazardly discarded in various corners of Alex’s tent, and this time around Miles doesn’t even hesitate to climb into Alex’s sleeping bag, the slick sounds of their rapidly deepening kisses filling the little space. Alex is utterly beautiful under Miles like this, already spreading his legs to cradle Miles between his thighs like it’s second nature. They’re both wearing track bottoms due to the chill, but there’s no way Miles misses the hot, burning line of Alex’s erection pressing against his hip even through all that fabric. “Oh fuck, Al,” Miles whispers, before sucking on Alex’s lower lip as his hands explore Alex’s bare chest. Alex moans when Miles’ thumbs circle his nipples.

“I’ve never--” Alex gasps out, hips rocking up against Miles. “Not with a bloke--”

“I know, love, I know.” Miles presses reassuring kisses along that sharp jawline. “I’ll take care of both of us, I’ll make you feel so good.”

Alex’s pupils are so dilated that his eyes are almost black. “You already do,” he whispers, before smiling cheekily and tilting his head up to capture Miles’ slack mouth in an extremely sinful kiss. Miles is quickly unraveling, rutting his own hard, aching cock against Alex’s flat, muscular stomach. Alex’s eyes widen at this, and Miles is considering whether he should back off when Alex suddenly grins wickedly and slides his hand under Miles’ waistband and between his legs, his fingers wrapping around Miles’ shaft.

“Oh fuck.” Alex’s voice is breathless, full of wonder. “It feels-- fuck, you’re so hot, Mi.”

“Move your hand,” Miles gently instructs him, mouth dropping open at how insanely good Alex’s warm, calloused grip feels around his cock. “Jesus, fuck-- imagine you’re getting yourself off…”

“Can we--” Alex licks his lips, moving his grip a little and exerting just the _right_ amount of pressure that Miles has to fight not to come prematurely like a teenager. “I don’t know how to say this, like-- together or summat?”

Miles instantly understands what Alex is trying to say. Although Miles wants to do all sorts of unspeakable things to Alex, the remaining logical part of his brain - which is rapidly shrinking as his blood flows south - reminds him that this is the first time Alex has been with a bloke. They have plenty of time to get adventurous later on, but for now, simplicity is key. He wants Alex to feel good.

“Yeah, course.” Miles smiles down at him, unable to resist bending down and capturing Alex’s kiss-bruised lips. He lets his left hand sink into the soft masses of Alex’s long hair, tugging on it and making Alex moan while his right hand tugs down both their track bottoms.

Miles only has to adjust his hips a little before he’s able to align their cocks together and wrap his hand around both of them, sighing at how amazing Alex’s erection feels, pulsing against his own. Alex buries his shaky moan in Miles’ neck, hips arching up in urgently little thrusts in an attempt to rut against Miles. Moving his hand quickly, Miles tugs even tighter on Alex’s hair just to hear that low, deep gorgeous moan again. Alex is groaning muffledly against Miles’ neck, and Miles lets out a shocked, pleased “Ah!” when Alex nips at the join of Miles’ neck and shoulder before sucking deep kisses into the skin there. “Fuck, Al--”

“Yeah, want you to fuck me,” Alex rumbles, his legs locked around Miles’ waist. “Soon as possible, want to feel you inside me--”

Miles is almost sobbing with pleasure now, doing his utter best to hold back his cries and moans and praying everyone else is still dead asleep. The filthy way Alex is moving against him, coupled with six months of celibacy, means Miles won’t last long. “Can’t wait to fuck you,” Miles whispers, his hand speeding up as he feels his orgasm building at the base of his spine. “But not before I get me mouth on you first--”

Alex’s teeth scrape Miles’ throat as he moans Miles’ name, going still before Miles feels warm, wet spurts striping his hand. Alex is still sucking on Miles’ neck, lost in the throes of his orgasm and entirely at Miles’ mercy. Miles shuts his eyes, remembering earlier that day how Alex had stolen Miles’ sunnies and slid them on with that wicked grin, dripping sex from top to toe. Miles never imagined he would be so lucky to have this chance, to have Alex’s taut, firm body under him like this.

Alex finally releases Miles’ neck, his eyes half-lidded and his cheeks reddened with exertion. He gives Miles a dazed, sex-stupid grin. “Come on, luv.” He pushes Miles’ hand away, taking over and stroking Miles with a firm grip, now slick with Alex’s semen. “Want to see you come.”

“You’re gorgeous,” Miles huffs desperately, thrusts speeding up as he fucks the tunnel of Alex’s fist. “Fuckin’ beautiful.”

“Come on me stomach,” Alex pleads, and that makes Miles tumble over the edge, gasping as he thrusts one last time, hot white stripes of his come landing across Alex’s belly as he’d demanded. Alex looks so pleased with this as he brings his hand to his mouth, licking Miles off his fingers. It’s so hot that a little more come dribbles out of Miles’ cock, marking Alex’s skin as his.

They're still trying to catch their breaths when both their phones light up at the same time with message notifications. Exchanging a panicked look, Miles wipes his hand clean on his track bottoms before grabbing his phone while Alex fumbles for his.

There are some texts from Matt and Nick in the group chat:

_[02:27]_

_Matt: not sure how to put this delicately_  
_Matt: but the tents aren't soundproof_  
_Matt: sorry lads_  
_Matt: but congrats on the sex!_  
_Nick: [eggplant emoji]_

“Fuck me,” Alex mutters, running his clean hand through his sweaty hair as Miles rests his head on Alex’s chest. He thinks he hears stifled laughter and chuckles coming from the other tents.

“Soon, I promise,” Miles says lazily, ignoring Matt’s distant ' _thanks for the nightmares'_ and more ensuing giggles as he strokes Alex’s chest, watching it rise and fall beneath his chin. It was all entirely worth it.

 


	5. I'm not used to raising the roof, then telling the truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This chapter was becoming so long that I thought it would be better to chop it into two parts. The next part is almost done and will be along very shortly! Sorry for the wait._   
> 

 

Someone’s fingers are dancing on Miles’ scalp, their tips warm and rubbing in circular motions. It’s an odd, ticklish sensation, but it’s soothing so Miles doesn’t bat the errant hand away. His eyes flutter open as he yawns, blinking at the solid wall of chest that has become his pillow. Above his head, he can hear deep humming, vaguely recognising the melody for ‘Go With the Flow’.

Then it all comes crashing back to him: the music, the moonlight, _Alex._ Miles glances upwards, where an extremely rumpled-haired Alex is scrolling through his phone messages while his fingertips idly skate over Miles’ buzzcut. “Mornin’,” he says with a soft smile when he sees Miles’ eyes are open. “You were out like a light.” His smile turns sly. “Were I that good?”

Miles chuckles against Alex’s chest. “Don’t let it get to your head, Turner.” Jesus, he can’t stop smiling like an idiot; he can’t remember the last time he was this happy.

Dropping his phone, Alex stretches like a cat before his eyes focus on Miles again; they are a warm, sleepy brown in the morning light. “Not convinced, are you?” Alex smirks down at him. “How ‘bout a second round?”

“Tempting,” Miles admits. He reaches up to tidy Alex’s hair, brushing it back and tucking it behind his ear. Under his chin, Alex’s heartbeat quickens in pace. “But I’m not sure if we should traumatise the other lads again.”

 _"Not listening, lalalalala,"_   comes Nick’s voice from the adjacent tent.

Miles and Alex exchange a guilty, amused glance before bursting into laughter. “Guess that question’s sorted then,” Miles says a little regretfully, before reaching for his own phone to look at his alarm. It’s about time to get up anyway. “Could do with a shower and a strong cuppa. What d’ya reckon?”

“Sounds grand.” But Alex makes no move to get out of their sleeping bag, tugging Miles up for a slow, leisurely kiss. It’s far less frantic and urgent than the ones of the previous night, but it nonetheless sparks a warmth deep in Miles’ chest.

“Listen, Al,” Miles says when they break the kiss. “I really should go see Jamie and the others. It’s been almost three days, y’know. I should try to make amends, as it were.”

As usual, Alex doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze turning contemplative. Miles can practically sense the thoughts percolating in the back of his mind. “You’re going right now?” is what Alex eventually says.

“Yeah, just-- I thought, maybe I should spend half of today with them. See a couple of bands together, like.” Miles doesn’t miss how the corners of Alex’s mouth have tugged down in unhappiness. “I’ll be back later on, promise.”

The tiny furrow between Alex’s eyebrows disappears. “This means you’re definitely spending the night here, right? Wit’ me?”

“Yeah, absolutely.” Miles adds a kiss to seal the deal. “Trust me, I’d much rather share a tent with you instead of Jamie. That arsehole swears up and down that he doesn’t snore, but sometimes it sounds like he’s operating a chainsaw.”

Chuckling, Alex cups Miles’ cheek. “Guess I should let you go before he accuses me of nicking you for meself, eh?”

“Guess you should.” Still that one last kiss turns into two, then three before Alex slips a thigh between Miles’ legs, his kisses dropping down to Miles’ neck and making him groan. “Al, c’mon love--”

“Alright, alright.” Despite his words, Alex is still not done with his love bite so Miles reluctantly bats him away and bestows one final kiss on him before getting up. Alex just watches him, his eyes soft and fond.

“Hey, Mi?”

“Yeah?” Miles is looking for his tracksuit top, spotting it in the corner of Alex’s tent and tugging it out. It’s all crumpled and wrinkled; normally, any damage to his clothes would really bother Miles. However, with the sight of a topless Alex all sleepy and alluring like this, Miles really couldn’t be fussed.

Alex looks to be deep in thought. “I’d like to meet them.” He seems unconcerned, but Miles doesn’t miss the telltale nervous tightening of Alex’s jaw. “Your mates, I mean.”

“Really?” A smiling Miles shrugs on his top, zipping it up. Alex wanting to meet Miles’ friends is unexpectedly touching, his genuine attempt to be a part of Miles’ life. It speaks of permanence, which helps since Miles has no idea if he and Alex will still see each other after Glastonbury is over. It’s a question he has shoved to the back of his mind for now, vowing to cross that bridge only when they get to it.

“Aye, why not? You’ve met those nutters of mine.” Alex gestures vaguely towards the adjoining tents, where they can hear some of the others already talking outside. “Fair’s fair, Kane.”

“Yeah, course laa. I’d love that.” Miles grins at Alex before checking his phone again. “How about I go meet them first and make nice? Then you can join us after lunch, yeah? I’ll let you know where we are.”

“Brilliant. I’ll walk you out.” Alex slips out of the sleeping bag as well, pulling on a t-shirt and running a hand haphazardly through his still-messy hair, despite Miles’ best efforts. “How do I look?”

“Like you had the best shag of your life last night.” Miles just laughs as Alex rolls his eyes at him, taming the mess as best as he could.

“I did think about cutting me hair short again,” Alex muses, as Miles unzips the tent and winces at the bright sunshine flooding in, holding it open for Alex to step out. “This length’s a bit of a bother to maintain, y’know.”

“Matt showed me photos of you lot when you were all younger, like.” Miles bumps Alex with his hip affectionately. “I have to say that short hair don’t quite suit you, love. You looked like a startled owl.”

Alex laughs, slinging an arm around Miles’ shoulders. “Oi, don’t be cheeky.”

“C’mon luv, you know you’d be sexy no matter what.” Miles drops his voice to a whisper as they approach the others. “Though long hair means I’d have something to hold onto, yeah?”

Alex’s face turns a nice shade of red. “Don’t give me ideas in front of me mates, you tosser,” he mutters.

It doesn’t escape Miles’ notice that almost everyone is already outside, heads swivelling towards them as Alex and Miles approach. “Good morning, all,” a grinning Matt says extra cheerfully. “Isn't it a very beautiful morning indeed?”

“You can all fuck right off,” Alex grumbles, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

Nick’s wounded, doe-eyed expression is hilarious. “I didn't even say anything!”

“Shut it, Mal.” Alex points at him in warning. “I know you were going to.”

Cookie glances at all of them in confusion. “What’s going on?”

“You didn’t see the messages in the group chat last night?” Breana helpfully asks.

“No, our phones died,” Cookie says, gesturing towards himself and Katie. “Been meaning to ask you lot to borrow one of your power banks. Why, what happened?”

“Didn’t you hear?” Nick says innocently. “Apparently Al found Jesus last night.”

A mortified Alex just mutters, “Fuckin’ hell,” as he rubs his face while the others cackle. Miles, who is really trying his best not to laugh, just shushes Alex and rubs his back soothingly, pressing a kiss to Alex’s temple in consolation.

Cookie’s quizzical expression gives way to utter surprise, his eyebrows jumping up. _“Oh.”_

Katie shoots her boyfriend a flat-eyed, unimpressed look. “Honestly luv, did you just notice?”

Matt only shakes his head in sympathy, going over to hand the stunned Cookie a dented tin mug of strong tea. “Just be thankful that your tent was t’ furthest away and you couldn’t hear nowt last night,” he says mock-seriously.

“Fuck,” is all Cookie says. He downs the tea quickly, his expression unreadable.

“Right, lads, I’m off. Will be spending the afternoon with me mates.” Miles waves dismissively at the boos and dismayed jeers of the others. “Oh, will you lot calm down? I’ll be meeting you in the evening, anyway.”

Matt checks his phone. “Okay, so we’ll see you at half past six outside the Pyramid Stage merch stand. For Tame Impala, yeah?”

Miles frowns in confusion. “Wait, we’re not going to the Other Stage to watch Paul Weller at 6.40?” He turns to Alex, who has stiffened in Miles’ arms. “Al? Which one are you going to?”

There’s a tense silence where Alex looks visibly conflicted. “I mean-- I were really looking forward to Tame Impala,” he eventually says, eyeing Miles a little warily.

“Ah, right. We’ll meet after, then.” Miles gives Alex an apologetic peck on the lips. “Sorry, luv. But I really can’t miss the Modfather, y’know?”

To his surprise, Alex looks relieved. “Yeah, course. I’ll see you after. We’ll get a good spot for The Strokes, promise.”

“Phew,” Matt says. “Thought there were going to be trouble in paradise, to be honest.” His tone sounds casual but Miles doesn’t miss the shrewd, fleeting glance that Matt directs at Alex. Definitely _something_ there, but Miles decides not to pry for now. Maybe Arielle was the clingy sort who’d insisted that Alex accompany her everywhere.

“Al?” Cookie is staring down at his mug with a grimace. “Could I have a word, mate?”

“Yeah, sure.” Alex gives Miles a farewell pat on the bum before lowering his voice. “You’d better go on first, Mi. Looks like Mr. Cook wants to see me after class.”

Chuckling, Miles whispers, “Good luck,” to Alex before hurrying off to the showers.  
  


***  
  


Jamie, Tyler and Zach have set up camp in Pylon Ground, which is almost all the way across the Glastonbury site from Pennard Hill. So it’s a long trek for Miles, but it’s actually quite a pleasant walk, thanks to the great weather and all the sunshine. In fact, his towel is almost dry by the time he spots the striped red-and-blue canopy of the John Peel tent in the near distance. His friends have texted that they’re having a late, hungover breakfast outside a food stall cleverly named The Fool English, and Miles finds the three of them sitting at one of the picnic tables, heads bent over the day’s schedule and already on their first pint of the day.

Tyler is the first to spot him. “Holy shit,” he exclaims, before putting on his best Dr. Frankenstein impression: _“He’s aliiivveeee!”_

Zach - as laidback as ever - only raises an eyebrow at Miles as he ambles up to them. “Hey man.” He runs an amused eye over Miles’ crumpled clothing. “You sure look like you had one hell of a night.”

Miles grins at all of them, already prepared for the endless piss-takes as he unzips his track top to get more comfortable. “Very funny, lads. I came all this way just to see you lot--” He stops talking when he realises the others are staring at him in shock. Or specifically, at his throat.

“Fucking hell!” Jamie exclaims. “Did a bear break into your tent and maul your neck?”

“Huh?” Miles strokes his throat self-consciously. Earlier in the showers, he'd only taken a cursory glance in the mirror before leaving as it was getting too crowded. “Are you messing?”

The three of them shake their heads in unison. “Your, uh--” Zach waves uncomfortably at his own neck. “Someone, um--”

“You have, like, a hundred hickeys, man,” Tyler blurts out, ever the bluntest of their group. “We were wondering where you were all weekend. Now we know you were lettin’ Vampira go to town on your neck.”

Miles sighs as he plops down at the table, dragging over Tyler’s breakfast and helping himself. “It’s not like that-- Look, I didn’t abandon you lot for a girl. Or rather, guy. I mean, it don’t matter. It all happened accidentally, y’know?”

“Accidentally?” Jamie repeats incredulously. “Like, what? You tripped and your neck landed on his lips?”

Tyler snorts with laughter. “Good one, J.”

However, Jamie looks too annoyed to notice. “Also, how come you only have your towel with you?” Craning his neck to look around Miles, Jamie’s frown deepens. “Where’s the rest of your stuff? Aren’t you staying with us?”

Miles wishes he’d bought a pint before coming to face the music. He takes a swig of Zach’s anyway, clearing his throat. “Ehm-- I just--”

“Okay, hold up.” Tyler has obviously taken pity on Miles. “It’s fine that you got laid, or whatever. This is kinda like our first time at Glasto, where Jamie met that chick at Silver Hayes--”

“I never abandoned you lot!” Jamie protests, talking over Tyler. “I was with her for, like, a couple of hours at most!”

“--and the following year it was Cam, who ended up going to Rock en Seine with that Aussie girl we met,” Tyler continues, as if Jamie hadn’t spoken. “I mean, we get it, Miles. Stuff happens. It’s fine if you want to spend the next two nights with this, uh, Glasto fling.”

Zach, who has been quiet all this time, is studying Miles closely. “Except that I’m guessing it’s not _just_ a Glasto fling,” he says, a little too astutely for Miles’ liking.

Miles sighs, playing with his rings. “No, it’s not,” he admits. “At least for me, it isn’t.”

“Have you guys talked about it?” Tyler asks.

“Not really, no. We were-- it just happened last night.” Miles doesn’t miss the troubled glance that Zach and Jamie exchange. “He wants to meet you all, y’know. I told him to swing by after lunch, if that’s all right?”

Tyler turns to the rest. “That’s a good sign, right? That he wants to meet us?” He drops Miles a wink. “Count me in.”

Zach shrugs. “I’m fine, as long as we’re not late for King Gizzard,” he says agreeably.

Miles shifts towards Jamie, who still looks a little upset. “J, what d’ya reckon?”

Jamie is fiddling with his baseball cap, refusing to look Miles in the eye. “When I asked you to meet us for a pint yesterday, you were--” Here, he pauses to frown. “You were busy shagging him?”

“What? No!” Miles hisses in frustration, pulling on his rings as he gets more agitated. “His toxic ex was mucking about near us, I didn’t want to leave him alone. I swear on me life, J. It weren’t like that at all.”

“You were still gone for two whole days,” Jamie mutters dully.

Miles loses the last crumbling bits of his patience. “Yeah, and whose fault was that? Who went and nicked me fucking tent, just to get back at me for some Tabasco sauce in your curry?”

“Hey guys, come on.” Zach holds up his hands as if to placate them both. “Let’s just put all that shit behind us, okay? It was a prank gone wrong, and J was really worried when we couldn’t find you, Miles. He felt so bad after. We all did.”

Tyler nods in agreement. “Yeah, plus you met those other dudes. The nice ones you ended up staying with. That’s a good thing, right?”

Miles deflates quickly at the mention of Alex. It’s true, he wouldn’t have met him if everything hadn’t gone tits-up in the first place. “Silver lining and all that, eh, J?” Miles says softly, a tentative attempt at burying the hatchet. Jamie has been his closest friend for years and years. Even with all their arguments, they’ve never been miffed at each other longer than a day.

“Suppose so.” Jamie tugs on his baseball cap. At least he’s not avoiding Miles’ gaze anymore, even though he finishes his pint a little too quickly, his eyes distant.  
  


***  
  


Miles does his best to be the good, dutiful friend and sticks steadfastly to his mates, even though he wants nothing more than to spend the day with Alex and the others. Accordingly to the group chat, they’re now watching The Vaccines at the Park stage and enjoying ice cold ciders, posing for a wacky group selfie that they send to Miles. Squashing his envy, Miles puts away his phone and listens to Tyler and Zach rave over the electro acts they want to catch tonight. Jamie is still a little bit quieter than normal, so Miles tries to crack a few jokes to get him back to his chatty self.

It doesn’t take long. Jamie is quick to anger but also quick to forgive, and things are almost back to normal by the time they grab a late lunch at The Glade. Miles has known Jamie since they were both clueless undergrads in Manchester, and they’ve always been close even after Zach and Tyler came into the picture during their postgrad years. God, has it really been a decade since Miles first heard Jamie strumming ‘That’s Entertainment’ in the student lounge and decided they needed to be best friends?

Miles’ phone buzzes in his pocket, interrupting his little trip down memory lane. It’s a text from Alex, asking where they are. It makes Miles grin like an idiot.

The network coverage is still blinking in and out of existence, so it’s a while before Miles is able to text back their exact location. He’s admittedly a little nervous about Alex coming to meet his mates, which is odd because he wasn’t even this apprehensive about introducing Agyness or Jonathan - his most serious relationships so far - to the rest.

They’re finishing up the remnants of their lunch when Miles feels a pair of strong arms wrap around his waist from behind. “All right, Mi?” Alex’s low, rumbly voice is welcome in Miles’ ear.

“Wahey, there you are.” Beaming from ear to ear like a besotted nutter, Miles gets up from the table so he can properly hug Alex, giving him a peck on the lips. In comparison to yesterday, today Alex has dressed down in a white Stone Roses t-shirt and jeans. His hair looks soft and freshly showered, which means he’s used just enough product not to look too unruly in front of Miles’ friends.

Speaking of which--

Miles turns around to find Zach, Tyler and Jamie watching them with raised eyebrows. Zach looks extremely amused, Tyler’s eyes are round with fascination and Jamie is, well, staring at Alex with a dour expression, his mouth twisted in a displeased knot.

“Well I'll be damned. This is Vampira?” Tyler exclaims. Although nothing seemingly moves under the table, Tyler suddenly yelps in pain and bends down to clutch his shin. “Ow, that hurt, you assholes!”

“Good,” Zach says in a way that indicates Tyler deserved it. He’s the first to stand and hold out his hand to Alex. “Hey, man. I’m Zach. How’re ya doing?”

“Alex.” They shake hands, and Alex looks down at Zach’s palm. “You a bassist, mate?”

Zach’s pleased, surprised smile makes Miles relax a little more. “You can tell?”

“Your calluses.” Alex wiggled his own fingertips in response. “Only bassists have such thick ones, innit? Me mates Nick and Andy have them too, they’ve hands like bananas.”

Zach laughs in solidarity. “You play too?”

“Guitar, mostly.” Now Alex is shaking Tyler’s hand. “All right, mate?”

“I’m Tyler. Sorry for, uh, calling you Vampira.” Tyler has the good graces to look a little apologetic. “My mouth kinda runs away with me sometimes.”

Alex cocks his head. “Do I wanna know why he’s calling me that?” he asks Miles, but it’s obvious he knows the reason; his gaze dips down to the love-bites scattered all over Miles’ neck, a glint of pride in his eyes.

“Just ignore him,” Miles assures him, before turning to Jamie. “Al, this is Jamie. J, this is Alex.”

Miles watches with bated breath as the two of them tentatively shake hands, but Jamie’s well-behaved enough to offer a polite smile, at least. Miles can also see that Alex is trying his best to engage Jamie, seeing how he’s important to Miles. It’s heartwarming, given Alex’s usual reticence with strangers.

“Miles says you’ve known each other for ages,” Alex eventually tells Jamie, after one of his characteristic silences.

“Ten years and counting,” Jamie says, scratching his nose. Miles knows that’s his tell when he’s uncomfortable. “Met when we were both daft first-years running around the Royal Northern College of Music.”

“We came along later,” Tyler helpfully adds. “When me and Zach did our master’s in recording arts at RNCM, while Miles and J did theirs in composition. We stayed friends after graduation.”

“Yeah, Miles mentioned that.” Alex looks down at his hands, miming the playing of a phantom piano. “Always wanted to study music, me. Learnt the piano as a young lad, but that were as far as it went.”

“It’s tough, but not for the reasons you’d think,” Zach says. “Loving music is one thing, but studying it academically? Kinda grinds the joy out of it sometimes.”

“That’s why Zach and I formed a band on the side,” Tyler says with a grin. “Just to do something different for the hell of it, y’know? We’re looking for a third member, if you’re interested. Miles and J turned us down because they prefer being frontmen.”

“That wasn’t quite my reason!” Jamie protests with a sniff. “ I said I wasn’t too keen on, y’know, electro or psychedelic stuff.”

Alex turns to Miles, a knowing glint in his eyes. “You being a frontman, eh? I can totally see that, you utter peacock.”

“Me? A peacock?” Miles tries not to look too offended when all his friends start nodding in unison. “You traitors! You’ve met Al for like, what, ten minutes? And already you’re all ganging up against me.”

“He’s got a point, man. Look at your clothes,” Jamie says, smiling for the first time. “You’re the first bloke I’ve lived with who _irons his fucking t-shirts._ ”

“I thought it was so weird when I saw it for the first time,” Zach tells an increasingly amused Alex. “My man Kane sure loves his closet.”

“What do you expect? He spent so much time inside there.” Alex shoots Miles a teasing smirk.

Tyler and Zach laugh in surprise. “Hey Miles, I like Vampira,” Tyler says, pointing a finger gun at Alex, who points one right back. “Can we keep him?”

Miles pretends to sigh. “I brought this all upon meself, didn’t I?” His tone is resigned, but he’s unable to resist smiling, leaning into the kiss Alex offers him, warm and affectionate. Alex is here with his friends, it’s the second day of Glastonbury, and Miles is going to watch Paul Weller and The Strokes later tonight. He’s never been happier.  
  


***  
  


Alex gets along well enough with Miles’ friends. To be specific, he gets along all right with Tyler and - surprisingly - takes an even bigger shine to Zach, who famously took months to warm up to Jonathan and Agyness. Miles is a little horrified to find himself becoming - dare he say it - a little _jealous_ of Alex’s and Zach’s easy friendship, and it’s only Alex’s constant attempts to include him in the conversation that soothes the ugly green envy crawling under Miles’ skin. With every anecdote or joke that Zach shares, Alex will turn around and grab Miles by the arm or shoulder, saying something like: “Yeah, Mi told me ‘bout that,” or “Miles, that’s hilarious, innit?”

Besides, Miles should be grateful for how great Alex and Zach are getting along. Because Alex and Jamie are definitely, definitely not on.

For one thing, their personalities are like night and day. Jamie talks fast, thinks fast, even likes to rap fast. Which is why he’s stymied by Alex’s glacially slow responses and long, thoughtful pauses. Miles can see Jamie getting antsy and annoyed as he’s trying his best to get to know Alex better, for Miles’ sake. Miles can also sense that Alex is trying his best too, but he seems increasingly put off by Jamie’s rapid-fire patter so he ends up ‘switching off’ and turning to Zach and Tyler instead.

After they finish watching an extremely energetic set by King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard at the John Peel tent, Alex offers to go get the next round of pints, while Zach accompanies him so he can help carry the drinks. Tyler’s chatting up two Swedish girls who’d been standing beside them, so it is just Miles and Jamie for the first time that day. “Everything okay?” Miles asks a little awkwardly, because he has no idea how to broach the topic.

Given that Jamie looks like he’s about to erupt, maybe that wouldn’t be a problem. “Yeah, everything’s ace,” he says sarcastically. “We’re all getting along rather swimmingly, innit?”

Miles sighs, rubbing his temple. “J, please--”

“I wanna know what happened to your boyfriend,” Jamie interrupts. “Because he was lookin’ at me like, whoa.”

There are so many things wrong with what Jamie just said that Miles doesn’t even know where to begin. “Okay, first off? Not me boyfriend.” Miles holds up a _let-me-finish_ finger when Jamie opens his mouth. “And no, not discussing it with him because I’ve known Al a grand total of three days. Still too early to tell. Secondly, I’m the first bloke he’s ever been with. I’m tryin’ me best not to scare him off here.”

There are brackets on both sides of Jamie’s mouth, like he’s physically holding back whatever he really wants to say. “Alright,” is what he manages with admirable restraint.

“Thirdly?” Miles holds up three fingers now. “Al weren’t looking at you funny. It’s just the way he is. He’s a bit, eh, spacey, y’know?”

“He take _ages_ to answer anything I ask him,” Jamie complains. “You sure that’s it? I could swear he dislikes me. At least, a little bit.”

Miles shrugs. “The two of you are really different, laa,” he says diplomatically.

“Suppose so.” Jamie shoots him a shrewd look. “You do know I’m trying my fucking best, right? Cos’ I can tell you really like this one.”

If Cam could discern the truth over a shitty Facetime connection, Miles isn’t surprised that his best mate can read him from a mile away. Before he can answer, Alex and Zach are back with the drinks, suggesting that they get a move on.

Before Miles even knows it, it’s time for all of them to go their various ways. Tyler and Zach are tempted to join Alex for Tame Impala, but in the end they decide they want to watch the Fleet Foxes more. Jamie runs to the BBC Introducing tent to watch some grime act that is attracting a lot of buzz, and Miles is ready to set off for the Other Stage to watch his beloved Paul Weller.

“It was really nice to meet you, man.” Tyler pumps Alex’s hand heartily. “Hey, come up to Manchester and see us, okay? Don’t let that sonofabitch Kane keep you all to himself.”

“Oi!” Miles pokes Tyler in the ribs, making him yelp. “I’m right here, you arseholes!”

After a few more yelled insults at Miles’ expense, Tyler and Zach finally head off, leaving Miles and Alex alone. “I never thought they’d leave,” Miles says, before pretending to yawn so he could drape an arm over Alex’s shoulders, which are shaking with barely contained laughter.

“Oh Mr. Kane, I do declare,” Alex sighs in a thick Southern-belle falsetto, before the two of them burst into giggles over their silly little nonsense. After collecting the rest of Miles’ belongings from Jamie’s tent, they begin making their way across the site, back to Pennard Hill. Miles’ free hand reaches out and finds Alex’s, twining their fingers together as they walk side by side.

Miles doesn’t ask Alex about his friends, not yet. He’s learned to let Alex take his time and process everything inside the complicated, enigmatic stew of his mind, and he knows Alex will talk only when he’s good and ready. Sure enough, it comes out halfway through their stroll. “Your mates are nice,” Alex says sincerely, running a hand through his hair which is getting unruly again, tousled by the evening breeze. Miles just watches him, struck by his beauty. “Though Jamie don’t quite like me now, don’t he?”

“The two of you are like chalk and cheese, laa.” Miles bumps Alex with his hip. “It’ll get better. Speaking of Jamie, what did Cookie want to talk about this morning?”

Alex merely shrugs; there’s no sign of distress, so it can’t have been too bad. “You’ll see,” is what he mysteriously says, his eyes distant as he lights a cigarette one-handedly, refusing to let go of Miles’ hand.

After making a stop at Alex’s tent to drop off Miles’ things, they head off to the Other Stage first. Upon arrival, Miles is relieved to find that the crowd is reasonable, which means most people have opted for Tame Impala. “This is me,” he says unnecessarily, looking down at their joined hands.

Alex doesn’t say a word. Instead he merely pulls Miles closer, their noses bumping together before their mouths meet in a kiss that grows more and more urgent by the minute. Miles can barely think straight, what with the way Alex’s tongue sweeps into his mouth to taste more of Miles, like he can’t quite get enough of him. Miles is speechless and breathless by the time they pull apart, cupping Alex’s face like he can’t bear to stop touching him. Alex presses their foreheads together, and somehow this is so much more intimate than the kiss they just shared.

Unbidden, one of Miles’ favourite Beatles lyrics drifts into his Alex-addled mind: _Will I wait a lonely lifetime? If you want me to, I will._

“I’ll come find you,” Alex promises, almost as if they’re on the same wavelength, licking his swollen lips which almost makes Miles dive right in again. They’re interrupted by the urgent buzzing of Alex’s phone, where Miles spots Matt’s name on the caller-ID. “Fuck, I’m-- I’m off, have fun.” Alex reluctantly starts backing away, giving Miles a wave before he picks up the call. “Yeah, yeah, I’m comin’.”

Miles just watches. _Deep trouble_ , Cam’s words ring through his head again, and Miles curses himself as he stalks towards the Other Stage, worried that he’s in way too deep.  
  


***  
  


This is the fourth time that Miles has watched his hero Paul Weller live. For the first three gigs, Miles had danced around and sang along to every single word, complete with air guitar. But today? It’s like watching the gig in black and white, as opposed to colour. Chastising himself for being so disrespectful to the Modfather himself, Miles decides to take as many photos and videos of the set as possible.

He sends them all to Alex, complete with starstruck captions and an occasional selfie of him singing along like a proper twat. Thanks to the lagging network, it takes a while for all of them to go through - but they eventually do. After Paul Weller finishes his set to rousing applause and takes a bow, Miles sets off for the Pyramid Stage to join the others. Now his phone is flooded with photos and videos from the others: Matt and Breana attempting the Thriller dance, a bewildered Nick covered in confetti during ‘Let It Happen’, Alex and Cookie crooning together comically to ‘Feels Like We Only Go Backwards’.

Miles manages to rewatch the last video at least three times before he finally spots the others in front of the merch tent, sweaty and happy and fanning themselves. They cheer when they spot Miles. “Ayyy, you missed one of the bangin’ sets ever,” Matt tells Miles, grabbing him for a one-armed hug.

“The Paul Weller gig looked like a banger too,” Alex says as he finishes off his cigarette. “I mean, judging from the videos Mi sent over.”

“Oh aye, Weller’s a ledge, no arguments there.” Matt points at the rest of them. “Anyone fancy a pint?”

“You know what’s weird?” Cookie says. “For someone who lost their wallet, you’ve prolly bought enough alcohol this weekend to kill a small horse.”

Matt shrugs affably. “It’s a good thing that Bree brought along me spare bank card, innit?” He drops Breana a kiss before shepherding her to the nearest beer tent.

“I can’t be arsed if this makes me sound old, but I really do need to sit down,” Nick groans, sinking down to the confetti-covered grass as Kelly and Katie follow suit.

Alex crushes his cigarette butt on the heel of his shoe, flicking it away before dragging Miles closer for a kiss. “You were missed,” he says, licking his lips.

Miles wants to reply in kind, but he’s mindful that Cookie is right there in front of them. In fact, the man’s cocking an eyebrow at Alex as if to ask, _Are you sure?_ and Alex is tilting his chin up defiantly in response: _Yes I am_.

Miles would be lying if he says he isn’t curious about what they discussed this morning, or why Cookie is acting a little odd. But, like Matt, Alex has known Cookie forever too. Miles trusts that Alex has good judgement when it comes to his friends.

“Weller and Tame Impala were one of the worst Glasto clashes,” is what Cookie does eventually say, although Miles thinks he’s just making conversation to divert attention from the unspoken exchange between him and Alex. “I remember me first big clash - Eagles of Death Metal and The Living End. That were painful, that were.”

They chat about bands until Matt and Breana come back with drinks. As it gets darker, the sky starts rumbling ominously with thunder, making everyone groan in dismay as people start scrambling for their ponchos. They’ve been extraordinarily lucky with the weather this year, avoiding the mudfest of previous years. Miles still thinks about Jonathan from time to time, wondering whether his ex is at this year’s Glastonbury after the horrible weather in 2016. Jonathan had never really been a fan of festivals so it’s likely that he decided to give it a miss after their acrimonious break-up.

“Let’s get some nosh, I’m ravenous,” Alex’s voice in his ear jolts Miles from his thoughts, and he finds himself smiling at Alex, who is worlds apart from Jonathan. Miles can’t quite pinpoint what it is, but he and Alex...just _fit_ , like pieces of a long lost puzzle. He loves that he doesn’t have to try hard to impress Alex, to make him laugh, to have him stare at Miles like he’s the most beautiful person here at Glastonbury. Alex just gets him, even Miles’ silly little habit of mimicking weird voices or accents, whether it’s going all Cockney or imitating the crisp pronunciation of the queen. He loves the way Alex’s eyes go soft when Miles brushes his hair back, or when Miles describes the daft exploits of his friends.

He loves...he loves--

_Oh, fucking hell._

“Yeah, I-- ehm, I could do with, uh, some Chinese,” Miles stammers, mostly to cover up his utter panic at this earth-shaking revelation. He’s blinking at the ground, staring at the bits of colourful confetti strewn everywhere just to ground himself so that he doesn’t hyperventilate.

Of course Alex can sense something’s off. “Everything all right, Mi?” he asks carefully.

“I’ll be fine after some food.” Miles doesn’t trust himself to say more, but he offers Alex a shaky smile. There’s a little furrow between Alex’s eyebrows, which means he’s unconvinced. But he must have decided to trust Miles and let him be for now, because Alex just shrugs it off and wraps a protective arm around Miles’ waist, holding him close. His familiar scent of sweat, smoke and aftershave is reassuring enough that the panic eventually subsides, but the truth is still there, staring at Miles in the face.

 _Okay fine,_ a resigned Miles admits to himself. _He’s lovely and he’s beautiful and I’m so fucked because I may just possibly be in love with him._

 


End file.
